


Thronestuck

by Silarcta



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous Relationships, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Crossover, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-11 00:41:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 49,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silarcta/pseuds/Silarcta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lowbloods are crying for revolution; some would assist in their liberation while others only wish to destroy the Condesce so that they might seat themselves upon the Coral Throne. Power, freedom and love are all desires that cause these characters to clash together in political and romantic intrigue, and in the end brutal war.</p><p>This Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire flavoured AU features the twelve original Homestuck trolls to varying degree, as well as the humans and others. It borrows no geography or characters from the Song of Ice and Fire universe, but much of its style, rules, terms and tone. Should not contain spoilers for either fandom, though there are parallels to some events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ERIDAN

**Author's Note:**

> Rated M for violence, some sexual content and a lot of foul language. A huge thanks to my friends and tireless readers Eva and Hanne. Thronestuck was an exercise in writing style. It may be nowhere near A Song of Ice and Fire, but this style and setting still causes some difficulty with the Homestuck characters. I have done my best to remain in character and do everyone justice despite not everyone getting the same amount of screentime.

“Keep _away_ ,” Eridan cried at his advancing offender. Wetness ran from a deep gash across his shoulder and he had withdrawn as far as the stone walls of the throne room would allow him. In his eagerness to retreat he had stumbled over the steps before the crude throne of blackened and petrified coral. What a cruel twist of fate that he should end his days at its feet without ever having had the chance of sitting on it. A far crueller twist yet was that his would-be slayer was no more than a delinquent peasant from the lowest of castes.

He knew very well the man who stood above him. His grimy look was the very face of the revolution, never rendered without an expression of the utmost hate. Even the lowbloods’ leader could afford no more than rags, and his only armour was a leather jerkin. “Eridan Ampora, you disgusting...” His voice was accustomed to nothing short of shouting, but Eridan cut him off.

“ _Prince_ Eridan,” Eridan corrected him. If he was to be slain by a sickle, a common _farming tool_ , he would at least want to be addressed properly. His velvet cape lay crumpled around him on the steps and his black silk doublet was sticking uncomfortably to his skin. The sigil of House Ampora was embroidered in purple on his breast. He would die as he lived; an overdressed, pampered prince who never could claw himself away from the hateful stares of the commoners to take his rightful place. “‘Your royal highness’ will do.”

“Prince Craven, if it _please_ you, you filthy son of a whore.” Karkat Vantas pressed the sickle up under Eridan’s chin and grazed his skin. A droplet of dark red trickled down to stain the linen shirt he bore underneath the doublet. “Any words before I split you open from gut to throat? I’ll take great pleasure in it. Right now my comrades are at the doors to the Condesce’s chambers, where she has barricaded herself and left you and the princess for dead.”

Eridan knew this to be true. The Condesce cared not for him, nor for her eldest daughter and heir to the throne. Eridan was supposedly a man grown, but he did not feel as such. He was not protecting his Lady Feferi as any proper man would have, but after yet another delay of their betrothal it was apparent that she would rather not be protected by him at all. That was a matter he would no longer have to worry about. He closed his eyes in an effort to shut out his fear. “The monarchy will not die with the Condesce. You lowbloods are oppressed because you deserve to be oppressed.”

He waited for the fatal strike, but it never arrived. A soft yet loud _thud_ sounded, and then Eridan had his lap full of Karkat Vantas. He made a disgusted noise and crawled away from under him. Attempting to remain dignified, he flipped his cape behind him as he rose from the floor. “Ser Makara,” he said with relief and gratitude that was too immense to hide. That this imbecile had become a knight was singularly the fault of House Makara’s esteem, but Eridan would be thankful for his life. Gamzee Makara had clobbered Vantas over the head with one of his infuriating juggling pins.

“He thinks himself the winner and doesn’t think to look back to see. Where are his comrades? All locked up behind bolts and bars,” Ser Makara said with what Eridan only thought of as his characteristically moronic grin. “The Queensguard got all his scurvy little sons of bitch friends, had them fitted to nice and cosy cells in the dungeon.” He took Vantas by the arm and hauled him halfway up from the floor. “I would have been here sooner, but her Imperiousness sent me looking for Ser Zahhak. Tell your little lady how you were all heroic and everything.”

Ser Makara was for once donning his armour, and he looked gallant in the light mail that was enamelled in black, with the sigil of his house in violet upon his breast. His usual half-helmet was of course not in place. It never was; this man would rather wield a jester’s toy than have a sword at his side, and his wild, black hair was sticking out in every direction.

“I need no handouts from you, Ser Makara. No disrespect intended,” Eridan said. Lady Feferi already thought little of him and she had her ways in finding out the truth. As he sounded less than sincere about his lack of disrespect he added, “You deserve that honour.” Because clobbering someone with a juggling pin took dedicated skill and acute precision. Nevertheless, it would seem he had said his prayers in vain.

“Clear this trash away. I am sure the Condesce will want to resume her duties as soon as these mud-blooded farmers have been dealt with.”

Ser Makara saluted him and dragged Vantas out. Once Eridan was sure he had no onlookers he touched a finger to his throat. His shoulder pained him and he was altogether not thrilled, even if they _had_ managed to stop the attempted coup d’état. What did _he_ have to cheer for? A place in the Condesce’s Small Council and a promise of betrothal that had been broken time and again. He was a foreign prince and little loved for anything but the power his house held. The Condesce wanted his father’s lands and in return he had a sense of power at her court and castle. He was long since old enough to marry Lady Feferi, and so he could not fathom why he was not already on the throne.

There was nothing to be celebrated. A victory over the lowbloods and another chance at life did nothing to ease the coldness of Eridan’s heart.


	2. GAMZEE

One, _thump_. Two, _thump_. Three, _thump_. _Thump_ , _thump_ , _thump_ Vantas’ head went against the stone steps down to the dungeons. Gamzee was as filled with joy as the dungeon was filled with filthy, lowblood revolutionaries. They were thrown down here to be forgotten and everyone would forget, except for Gamzee. Gamzee never forgot even the smallest of captive, because who was to deny a knight the glee he would derive from these prisoners?

It was a fine selection they had. As he went to one of the free cells he passed Sollux Captor and Tavros Nitram, both scum of the lower class who had thought they were capable of toppling the Condesce. They lay in chains, writhing from the beatings they had received. Tavros Nitram only stopped momentarily to drag himself towards the bars as far as the chains would allow him.

“Gamzee,” he called brokenly. “Please tell me you haven’t forgotten us.”

Few could make Gamzee even pause in the tasks he performed for the Condesce. It had been different once, in a time before blood and caste had meant anything to him. Even now it seemed to Gamzee that Tavros and Karkat both refused to acknowledge that he was doing this willingly.

“You let her drive you to madness,” Karkat spat. He had regained consciousness, but Gamzee already had him in chains. “The _wrong_ kind of madness, not the innocent if not disturbing insanity you revelled in before.”

“This madness is supposedly in everyone of the higher caste,” Gamzee said with a malicious grin. “The Condesce helped me embrace it.”

“Let us help you find yourself again,” Karkat persisted. “It’s doable, if you give us the chance. There was friendship between us once...”

Once it had been so, but Gamzee could recall none of it. He did not fear a relapse into his old ways, when he had mingled with lowbloods and found himself entertained by things other than shattering their every bone and breaking their weak little bodies. “And what will you offer me in return?”

“Our man on the inside,” Karkat replied without hesitation. “I have no love for that foul wretch, but nevertheless he is a traitor to the Condesce. One of her own men helped us enter the keep today. That damnable idiot felt pity for us, and yet he failed to provide us with a successful plan.” He spat on the stone floor, as if disgusted by having accepted his help.

“That is an interesting offer you are pitching my way. Give me his name, and perhaps I shall not torture you so much as I intended.”

Karkat seemed to him still intent on the idea that Gamzee’s mind could be freed from the Condesce’s clutches. He said the name with venom and no regret. “Ser Equius Zahhak.”

“Miraculous how you cooperate,” Gamzee said in satisfaction. He knew Ser Zahhak held no love for him, and his continued disrespect agitated Gamzee more by the day. Whether Karkat spoke truly was of no consequence.

On his way out, Gamzee gave a kick to Sollux Captor, who hung chained to the wall with no bars to protect him from the abuse. He was a skinny man not meant for fighting, too harshly beaten to respond any more.

Taking twenty men of the Queensguard Gamzee resumed his search for Ser Zahhak. He was an immensely strong knight known to crush his enemies’ skulls with his bare hands. No weapon had been made that would last long in his hands, and so he fought with raw power. Still he would take down most of Gamzee’s men before he was overwhelmed.

Gamzee found him trying to escape by one of the secret tunnels of the keep. Ser Zahhak was the only man who was near measuring up to Ser Makara in height, and he let his long hair fall freely down his shoulders. While fighting he would don a heavy mail in which he moved as swiftly as any normal man would while unencumbered, but Gamzee caught him at an undesirable time. Ser Zahhak had hoped to avoid any encounters on this day and had only stayed for his duties at court. He was dressed in a fine linen shirt with the sigil of his house in blue upon his leather vest.

By the time the Queensguard succeeded in subdued him he was bruised and bleeding from a number of cuts and scrapes. The sleeves of his shirt hung in ribbons of linen around his arms, and his vest had been cut through. Still the skin underneath was only grazed. The four men it took to subdue him asked if he should be brought straight to the dungeons.

“Too easy a fate for a traitor. The Condesce will have him beheaded next morning, then where goes the entertainment? Away! And it will all be over far too soon for this son of a bitch.” He sank his fist into the traitorous knight’s stomach. It possibly did more damage to his hand than to Ser Zahhak, but that did not stop him from delivering several more kicks. “Nothing to say for yourself. First aiding lowblood scum, then letting yourself be manhandled so readily. No class is too high or low to give Ser Zahhak what he deserves!” True madness lit his face up as he rained hurt down on the broken knight. It only ended as their scuffle drew attention from outside.

“Ser Makara?” Prince Eridan looked to be horrified at the sight. Perhaps he thought Gamzee had finally snapped, because his fear was certainly not for Ser Zahhak. This spoiled, selfish prince feared for no one but himself.

“This is a traitorous one, your high royalness,” Gamzee said. “He aided those sons of whores’ shit revolutionaries.”

“What does this knight have to say for himself?” Prince Eridan asked.

Gamzee shrugged his shoulders and looked down at his fresh captive. “I didn’t care to ask him, my lord.” Ser Zahhak was bloodied and bruised but he had not uttered a word in defence, nor in plea for mercy. No defiance marred his stoic expression, but Gamzee saw a definite uncertainty in his eyes when the young prince interrupted them. “What would you have me do with him, your lordliness?”

Eridan showed a hesitation that led Gamzee to think he had a weakness for the traitorous knight. Perhaps he should not report directly to the Condesce; he was curious as to how this would play out. Curiosity over duty any day.

“Take him to the western tower and let no one inside,” the prince decided. “I will interrogate him further myself. The Condesce would not wish to be troubled with such trivial matters.” He looked meaningfully at Gamzee, then in turn at the Queensguard. The Condesce would not suffer a traitor to live, but it seemed the prince had other intentions. A grin spread across Gamzee’s face.

“It will remain between us, Prince.” At a price, but that was a discussion saved for when Gamzee knew what Eridan wanted with the knight. “You should thank the prince, Ser Zahhak. He has granted you a few more days to contemplate your crime.” He took a handful of Ser Zahhak’s hair and pulled his head back. Blood ran down Ser Zahhak’s chin and forehead. The hint of a sneer crossed his face as he was forced to look at Eridan.

“No,” he said. As much as Gamzee teased and taunted, he could get no other word out of him. Even in defeat he remained honourable—and infuriating.


	3. SOLLUX

Before the Condesce ordered absolute separation of the higher and lower castes, Sollux had been a scribe and adviser at her court. Long after she sent him away, he still dreamt of the lavish gardens and white towers of her castle. There was one he dreamt of more frequently than any gilded halls and courtyards, but he did not dare draw comfort from her memory in his waking hours, lest he get hopeful of seeing her again.

While he had been well acquainted with the Condesce’s castle in his time, this was his first visitation to her dungeon. He found he did not much care for it. He had woken up to a feverish nightmare of pain and defeat, a captive with his commander and one of their men.

“Are we the only ones who are still alive?” he asked. If they even _were_ alive. The only thing he recalled of their would-be glorious revolution was their men dying at the hands of the Queensguard and a rabid knight in black and violet armour. Ser Makara; Makara the Mad as the commoners knew him. His mind was said to have been destroyed by too much milk of the poppy, and now he was the Condesce’s puppet.

“Yes,” Karkat said. The dungeon resonated with the sound of his head hitting the stone wall. It was all he could do in his rage. “How much of a moron did I have to be in order to trust that damnable Zahhak’s plan?” He was screaming, but that was nothing new. Half his face was obscured by dried blood and Sollux could only imagine how terrible he looked himself. He was hanging from his wrists by manacles. Karkat was the closest to him, and at the other end of his cell was Tavros.

“How is he?” Sollux asked, inclining his head towards the limp body. Nitram was the youngest of them. In his naïve innocence he had thought Ser Makara would remember and aid them. He had been bold but foolish.

“Not well at all.” Karkat undoubtedly blamed himself for all their misfortune. “He went up against the bitch knight.”

“Ser Serket?” She had proven herself in a tournament and gained the Condesce’s favour. Any man would laugh at her, but he would do so behind her back because her ferocity and strength was as overpowering and intimidating as her mind. She was almost as soft in the head as Ser Makara, and all the more grotesque in battle. “I’m impressed he wasn’t slain.”

“He challenged her and the bitch responded by pushing him out the window of the Queen’s tower. It broke both his legs. She would watch him squirm in pain,” Karkat snarled. It would have done the nobles good to kill Vantas rather than to let a vengeance brew in his heart. Sollux had never known a fiercer protector of his friends and allies. He had his own reasons for joining the uprising, but Karkat unselfishly desired to stop the oppression.

Their heads turned at the creaking sound of the door. The dungeon was at all times locked and a heavy, reinforced steel door was between them and freedom. At first they feared Makara was back with a mind to cause them more pain, but the footsteps they heard were light and graceful in a manner the Mad Knight could not achieve. Sollux’ heart fluttered within his chest.

Princess Feferi was to him a delight to look upon, and he had too often enjoyed her company during his time in the Condesce’s service. She always dressed herself in the lightest of blue and green silks. Her embroidered bodice was decorated with magenta lozenges of coral. She approached hurried and with concern, and she went directly for Sollux. She reached out for him in her worry, but hastily took her hand back as she realized what she was doing.

“How could you?” she asked him. “The Condesce will have your head on a spike for this.” She was in tears and barely remembering her place. It gave Sollux hope, as much as her distress pained him. He did not know what to tell her or how he could possibly comfort her. He had been a teacher to her and he was deathly afraid of what she might think of him.

“You foolish girl,” Karkat sneered at her. Sollux went white with fear of what he might say, but there was no shutting Vantas up once he got going. “The Condesce sent him away. What other hopes did he have of seeing you again than to join the revolution?”

She looked to Sollux for confirmation of this explanation. She must have seen the truth written on his face, for she seemed both perplexed and filled with joy, but it did not last long. “To see you like this...”

“Your concern is moving, but I’m not too eager to discuss the situation.”

“I may yet be able to help,” she said. “The Maester keeps his concoctions under tight lock, yet I was able to relieve him of some milk of the poppy. It will ease your pain and allow you sleep for a little while. I apologize that there is not enough for your friends.”

“Tavros is the one in pain,” Sollux said. He did not care to cloud his mind any further than it already was, nor was he the one with broken legs. The Princess seemed reluctant to oblige, she did not know Sollux’ companions, but any man or woman who looked at Tavros would have pitied him at that moment. Too weakened to even raise his head or plead for help, he lay still on the cold floor. The slightest movement assaulted his body with waves of hurt. She knelt by the bars of his cell and reached for him. His hand was cold as ice.

“If you were able to come closer...” She withdrew a crystal vial from her bodice. The boy had eyes like a doe in its death throes. She could look at him no more, and she put the vial in his hand and was quick to get back up. “I will do what I can to make the Condesce ease your punishment, Sollux. I cannot say I will be able to provide your companions with the same courtesy.”

She left them and Sollux felt riddled with guilt. “If she only saw the oppression her mother the Queen subjects us to...”

“She is one of the stinking highbloods,” Karkat said. “It is natural she would see the revolution crushed. If not for you she would not be down here at all.” The venom in his voice made Sollux flare with anger and annoyance.

“She is not like her mother. I know her and I know you; I’m the only one here to see both worlds with unclouded judgement.”

“And you wish to whisk her away from her mother’s tyrannical rule so that you may love her freely. Your cause is noble, Sollux, but I fear she may break your heart. By all means, I would have you pursue her. Only remember whose side she is on. You may have been a scholar, but you have allied yourself with whores and pig farmers, and a pig farmer is no Prince Charming, as she will realize eventually.”

It infuriated Sollux to no end how transparent all matters of the heart were to Karkat Vantas. His righteousness and valiance had the upper class calling him the Beggar Knight. He had suffered more than anyone, yet he always preached of love. Sollux would name him a hypocrite for warning him about the princess, but he was absolutely right in telling him to be careful. Was there even a way to pursue love with a guarded heart?


	4. EQUIUS

The entire kingdom could be seen from the western tower. Ever since the Condesce came to power, the ocean levels had risen until the valleys turned to lakes and everything but the mountains were wet marshland. The Condesce was somewhere from overseas, but little was known about her from before she took the throne. She had brought the foreign prince over with her, groomed to be an obedient husband for her daughter. Equius did not care for him, even less so for the Condesce. Every moment in her service had been sour.

Equius had removed his torn shirt and vest. There was little he could do about the blood drying upon his skin, even less so about the cuts that marred his arms and chest. He was glistening in sweat from the exhaustion of the earlier struggle, but he stood rigid with his head held high. The western tower had been the bedchambers of some lord whose head had no doubt come to decorate the keep’s wall. Many rooms stood empty after the Condesce had taken the throne. Equius was grateful to have avoided the dungeons, but he would not lie down on the bed like some cripple. As he suspected, he was soon visited by the foreign princeling.

Eridan whirled into his room in a flurry of purple velvet and anger. A servant girl followed him and closed the door behind him. She was Equius’ favoured handmaid, a chipper and strong headed young woman of a minor noble house. She carried a basin of hot water and a cloth, and she smiled at Equius despite her concern. Eridan must have picked her because he knew she would not tell the Condesce what was happening.

“I vouched for you!” Eridan was screaming and spitting with rage. “Have you forgotten the day when the Condesce beheaded your father? She would have done the same to you!”

Equius turned away from the window to face the Prince’s childish tantrum. He said nothing and Eridan raged on.

“I should have known she was right. Treason is in the blood. I knew it all along.”

“You did not,” Equius said calmly.

“I so did. Like a fool I was blinded by this knight in shining armour who came to beg for his life and pledge fealty to the Queen. All this time you were a liar who only sought time to brew your treasonous plans in the dark.”

“No.”

With Nepeta he could argue back and forth like this for hours, but Eridan had no patience. He went into a screaming rage, kicking over furniture and otherwise acting out. Equius exchanged a tired look with the girl. They let Eridan scream until he was out of breath and his throat was sore.

“You are done.”

“No,” Eridan croaked. He would have started another bout of insults, but had no more words. Nepeta came forwards and urged Equius to sit down. She wetted the cloth and helped clean Equius’ wounds.

“You are done,” Equius repeated. “And I did not lie when I swore to the Condesce I had nothing to do with my father’s opposition of her. I honestly believed the Condesce would bring much needed change to our world, and that she did, but it turned out later it was a change that did not suit me after all. At the time you vouched for me, my intentions were pure.”

Eridan laughed, high-pitched and incredulous. “Oh, _that_ is certain to make everything clear for the Condesce. Surely she will see how right she was in allowing you to live and that listening to me was no mistake on her part. Seven Hells, she may even clear you of all charges and give you a nice pension before she retires you at an old age.”

His ranting did not amuse Equius in the least. He was more concerned with letting Nepeta dress his wounds and made sure to move and hold his arms up as necessary, watching her progress. “I never asked that you vouch for me that day. I’m honestly still puzzled as to why you would do such a thing.”

“Some gratitude would perhaps be in order still?” Eridan asked in frustration.

“I’m even more confused as to why you would let me live now. Eventually the Condesce will find out about my treason. You can either be the man who slayed me or you can be the man who both protected and hid me.”

Eridan narrowed his eyes. “Does it amuse you?” he asked. With a few steps he stood in front of Equius. Nepeta put her arms around his neck protectively. “Ser Makara told me your lowblood ‘friends’ did not think twice about giving up your name. The cat wench and I are the only two people interested in keeping you alive.”

It figured that the only reason Eridan remembered Nepeta was because she always played with the castle’s cats. Equius took her hand without moving his harsh stare from Eridan. “Lady Nepeta is under my protection. No foreigner will speak to her in that manner, not even a prince.” He would not thank the man who was offending his servant. As he touched her, he thought he could see a twinge of jealousy on the Prince’s face. His motives were suddenly not so obscure.

“And you are under her protection. A poor shield against the Condesce. Do you agree in your master’s ways, cat girl? Or are you as treasonous as him?”

“I was with Ser Zahhak since I was no bigger than a kit,” she said proudly. “I may tell him off when he is foolish but I serve him gladly. He has always treated me as if I were a sister to him.”

“It figures a traitor would best get along with a blindly obedient servant,” Eridan said with disgust. “I will let you continue serving him. On your master’s life you will not breathe a word of this to anyone, or the Condesce will have all our heads.”

“Ser Makara knows,” Equius pointed out. “How do you intend on dealing with him?” And personally he was uncertain of how he would deal with Eridan. It displeased him to know his life depended on the affection of a spoiled princeling. So be it that his life may depend on it; Equius had no intentions of pleasing this man-child.

“I will deal with him.”

“I doubt your abilities to deal with anyone.”

It was a while since he had seen Eridan’s usual conceited smirk, but it returned now. “Anyone can deal with Makara.”


	5. GAMZEE

The prisoners were no immediate concern of the Condesce’s in the days that followed. It was more important to weed out the revolutionaries who may still be hiding in the castle and city. She started a witch-hunt among the commoners and those who associated with them. Gamzee was disappointed to miss out on the fun. Ser Serket had been named commander of the investigations while Ser Makara had to stay confined within the keep and protect her Imperiousness. Perhaps had the Condesce forgotten how dangerous he could be when he was bored. Others had not.

“This is an official letter of inquiry from Condescy herself. How can you say no to that?”

Grand Maester Maryam did not even cease in her tireless rinsing of herbs to spare the letter another look. “Had I believed her Imperious Condescension was in need of a gallon of the milk of the poppy I have my doubts she would scrawl it on a label peeled from a jar of fruit preserve.”

“Perhaps she was in a lack of parchment and had just been snacking? You did not consider that, did you?” Gamzee chided. “Her Royaltyness snacks about as much as any one of us, if not more. She shits and fucks and farts like any other damned being.” It had to be noted that Gamzee had been told off and abused so often for his failure to address her properly that everyone had all but given up. They thought him too dumb to be courteous. They had him entirely wrong.

“We have been over this time and again,” Maester Maryam said. “You are no use to the Condesce in any state other than sober. The milk of the poppy is meant to bring painless sleep to those unfortunate men who are injured gravely.”

“A whore bitch knight daughter of a pirate with pigshit for brains and a female Grand Maester who is too green to see a man in need,” Gamzee spat. “What has the Condesce done to this damnable kingdom?”

“One who enjoys the company of men almost as much as our dear Prince _would_ say such a thing.”

“Because everyone knows you girls only crochet in your long hours locked in with her.”

“Ser Serket commands her Queensguard and she naturally requires my advice. We would invite you to court if you could behave yourself. In the very least watch your tongue,” Maester Maryam warned him. “Her Imperious Condescension will have you down for a traitor before you know it.”

“How queer that you should mention treason.”

“How so?”

But Gamzee had been distracted. The Grand Maester’s chamber doors were open out to the hallway and he could hear a far more interesting conversation than the one he was having. He sidled out into the hall, causing no grief to the Grand Maester.

“Ladies,” he said smoothly. Princess Feferi giggled, but Ser Serket only smirked in that condescending way of hers. Like all the Condesce’s knights her armour was decorated with black enamel, but hers was a masterwork. The gorget, pauldrons, gauntlets and cuisses were entirely indigo rimmed with silver, and the rest looked to be wrapped in indigo spider web of enamel.

Her helmet, which she carried under her arm, was decorated with a spider that looked to be clinging to the steel. It was designed to draw her hair back in a tall ponytail. She bore the sigil of her house in silver on her chest and the words of her house on the gorget. They read “Fire and Iron”, and they all thought she took far too much pleasure in these words.

“Ser Makara,” she greeted him. “The men and I missed you while we were burning down Nitram’s farm. We have taken special care to weed out the families of the revolutionaries.” She looked all too pleased with herself, oblivious to the Princess’ expression.

“Is that what my mother’s orders were?” she asked.

“We were told to take care of any other possible revolutionaries,” Ser Serket said and shrugged. Gamzee did perhaps not pay attention too often, but his memory was surprisingly sharp when he had others in the wrong. At least when he was in a state of sobriety.

“The Condesce’s orders were that I would interrogate our prisoners about their families. _Then_ action would be taken against them according to my advice.”

“No matter. They have been dealt with, time has been saved. The Condesce would want it that way and you may quote me on that any time.”

Ser Serket left them laughing. The Princess seemed mortified, but Gamzee was not impressed or surprised.

“Surely Ser Serket has not murdered them all?”

“Surely she has. Vantas was an orphan and they torched Captor’s house with the family still inside yesterday.”

“But you were to interrogate them,” she protested with wet cheeks.

“Dry your face, little Princess. Interrogating them would have yielded no other result. It is an excuse to torture our revolutionaries a little extra, and I still mean to do so.” Gamzee raised one sly eyebrow at her in curiosity. “Does it pain you to know, little Princess? Has your heart been stolen away by the Beggar Knight, perhaps? Like in the hero tales of old, he will sweep you off to a life of rebellious freedom?” He looked at her face closely as he spoke. “No? Oh, obviously it is the teacher who showed her and taught her and charmed her with his cunning, clever ways. The teacher who came back for her after one year and two years and several years of being apart.”

She turned her face away to hide how flushed she was. Gamzee knew Sollux Captor had tutored her once, had watched them together and seen, but only now he knew. It made him grin so terribly.

“I have only tried to ease their pain,” she said. “If you do speak to them, you will undoubtedly find out. Please, do not make them suffer more than they already have.”

“Pleading, pleading for another man? What would your Prince say,” Gamzee wondered aloud. “What would _he_ say if he heard you plead for someone else?”

“He needs none of my pleas,” she said with a sudden fierceness. “He is here because my mother would love for me to be married to a helpless child. She rid herself of her husband and the Hand of the former king so that she may rule supreme; she makes no secret of it. Now she sees fit to have me betrothed to a craven so that I may rule unhindered by men when my time comes. How is that fair? How is it any different from loving a man with no power or caste?”

Gamzee held up his finger and slowly moved it towards her face. He did it so slowly she was able to spout several more foul sentences about the Prince before he silenced her with the finger against her lips. “ _Shhhhh_ ,” he said softly. “Better not let anyone hear that, little Princess. If the Prince knew, _oh_ , he would be the most furious. Angrier and furiouser than he has ever been. He thinks he will have power through you. What would he do if he thought a lowblood traitor was in danger of taking you away from him?”

She paled. “You are right,” she whispered. “Ser Makara, forgive me. Please, if he finds out...”

“Watch yourself, little Princess. One never knows who is listening. See your love sparingly and swiftly.”

“I will,” she assured. “Only please swear to me you will keep this secret.”

“A knight can be a keeper, I will hold so tight on your dreams and hopes,” Gamzee told her. The revolution had failed, but it had set in motion events that might yet bring the Condesce down.


	6. ERIDAN

Eridan could not sleep knowing he might at any time be discovered. At night he would lay tossing and turning in bed. Between nightmares of the Queensgard storming into his room to arrest him, he lay awake and contemplating why he took this risk. He reminded himself every day of how much he loved the Princess. Always he addressed Lady Feferi as “my beloved”. Perhaps it had been genuine at a time, but he could not remember what it felt like any more. They should have been betrothed before the Condesce sailed to conquer this kingdom and make it hers.

The first excuse had been that Lady Feferi wished to be a princess on the day of their betrothal. Eridan had accepted this and still been infatuated with her, a slave to her love through the entire war. Her affections toward him had seemed genuine then, but over time it must have faded.  Now, when Eridan thought back to those lovely days, he only remembered the endgame of the war. He had been old enough to fight, but the Condesce had only allowed him to partake once she was sure the battle was won.

Thinking of that day, Eridan need only close his eyes and he saw the man in blue armour tower over the battlefield. He moved with such grace, not encumbered in the least by the weight of cold, hard steel. He crushed his enemies and shattered their swords by hand. Eridan had been paralyzed by the display of courage and strength. This knight was unlike any other knight. Before Eridan knew it, the knight was over him and shattered the sword in his hands. He threw Eridan to the ground so hard his shoulder dislocated. The pain meant nothing.

As his helmet rolled off, the knight hesitated. He did not find honour in killing a mere child, despite his own young age. He asked Eridan if he would yield, and Eridan yielded to him that very second. He found no shame in yielding to a knight of such valor and nobility.

Of course the Condesce had not agreed. Eridan shuddered to remember her expression as the blue knight entered the court room with him in tow. He had introduced himself as Ser Equius Zahhak, the son of the knight only known as Ser Darkleer who had commanded the former king’s forces.

“Show him,” Ser Serket had said with a snigger. The Condesce had said nothing, only looked amused by these events.

Then they brought in Ser Darkleer; both pieces of him. His head rolled out from the bag it had been kept in and stopped at Ser Zahhak’s feet. Eridan’s blue knight did not so much as wince or bat an eye.

“I fought for my father and not for his king or his ideals,” Ser Zahhak said. “I can be of no use to him anymore, and so I would pledge my allegiance to one whose ideals I support.”

“You fought against us and now you wish to pledge allegiance to her grace? And you wander in with a hostage no less.”

The Condesce silenced her with a light gesture. Eridan was wondering if the Condesce would care to consider his life at all, but he was not afraid that his blue knight might strike him down. It would mean both their deaths.

“He is no hostage,” Ser Zahhak said. “He yielded to me on the battlefield and I release him to you as a sign of good faith.” He looked over his shoulder at Eridan, who realized he was free to go. Eridan hesitated to leave his blue knight’s side, but then his eyes found Lady Feferi, now _Princess_ Feferi and he walked to her with as much dignity as he could muster. He felt the eyes on him and he knew they thought him weak. They did not understand.

The Condesce asked the knight if he felt no remorse for his father, if he so easily rejected his father’s legacy and ideals. She saw it as traitorous and accused him of holding no love for his own flesh and blood.

“When I fight for you I will feel as much remorse for my father as I did for my ideals when I fought for him. Weeping before his Queen is not how a knight grieves. His service goes beyond his personal tragedies.” For it was a tragedy. Eridan had Lady Feferi on his arm, yet he was watching his blue knight closely. Underneath his stoic demeanour there was despair. He did not flinch or blink, for he was too scared he might see his father’s face staring at him.

The Condesce decided his words pleased her. She asked if one man or woman at her court would vouch for this knight. Should even one come forward, she would allow Ser Zahhak to pledge fealty to her and humour her for some time.

When no one else would, Eridan stepped forward in a heartbeat. “I witnessed his valor and grace firsthand. You would be honoured to have such a fine knight to call your own,” he told her. She laughed at him, laughed as if he was a child playing at court. Eridan did not see how she could laugh then, but now it was all too clear. She had accepted Ser Zahhak’s pledge, however. He swore fealty to her while the lords and ladies snickered and talked quietly amongst themselves, and he endured the chatter and contempt of his fellow knights for years. He held his head high and Eridan truly thought he had done right by trusting him.

Ser Zahhak faded into the Queensguard for a while. Eridan did not see much of him and he continued to pursue his Lady Feferi’s affections. At times his blue knight would visit him in his dreams, but he did not know what to make of it. His dreams were strange and made little sense to him. As of late he’d had one or two that did make sense but he would rather forget them quickly, because they made him uncomfortable.

Now, if he dreamt of his blue knight, he saw armour flecked in red and a head with no body. These nightmarish visions drove him insane. He awoke gasping one night, drenched in sweat and tangled in his linen. Someone stood by his bedside and he lashed an arm out towards them, thinking it was the Queensguard who had come to take him away for hiding a traitor.

“My lord!” a female voice squeaked.

His heart began to slow as he saw it was the cat girl. “What are you doing here, stupid girl?”

“You said not to call upon you during the day. I had a question, m’lord, and then I saw you tossing about as if in a fever. I thought it best to wake you, m’lord.”

Eridan grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down to be level with his face. “Does he favour you?” he asked, for this question had plagued him since he first saw her interacting with him. It pained him to see how loving his blue knight would treat her.

“I assume he does, m’lord?” Eridan’s grip tightened until she complained. “You are hurting me, m’lord.” She did not whimper in pain like girls usually did. A girl would have to be strong to suffer the affection of such a powerful knight. This only made Eridan angrier still.

“You know what it is I am asking. Does he lay with you? Was your dear master the one who took your maidenhead?” She was old enough to have had her blood and she was not ugly to look at, but she immediately went cross at his persumption.

“He has done no such thing!” She appeared to be so offended at the suggestion she was near slapping him across the face, but she only raised her hand before she reconsidered. “He would never. I see him as a brother, and as a brother he takes me in his arms to comfort me when I despair. At times I would lay by his side at night to comfort him, but I know him better than he knows himself. He would never ask any more of me. Nothing indecent.”

Eridan let go of her. A sudden shame came over him. The cat girl was much more than a servant to Ser Zahhak, but that was to be expected when he had no other friend in the kingdom. “What would you ask?”

She scoffed and smoothed out her gown. “About that very thing, m’lord. Ser Zahhak has been left to himself for days. He refuses to show it but when you allow me in his chambers he seems mournful to me. I would keep him company, if only for a few hours. I promise there will be no scheming.”

Eridan never let the two be by themselves for a long time. He feared they would plot an escape plan, or a way to make him take the fall for them. To his own anguish he found that paranoia was not his greatest reason to keep them apart. He pushed aside the linens and got out of bed.

“I would speak to him myself.”

“But m’lord...”

“You may see him later, but not tonight.”

He assumed this was more than she had hoped for, as she settled with that. Eridan sent her away and dressed himself. He dressed light, confident he could make his way unseen to the western tower. In breeches and nightshirt he stole his way through secret corridors and up hidden stairwells. When he entered the tower, he found Ser Zahhak seated in the broad windowsill. The cat girl had dressed him in a fresh linen shirt and she had cleaned and treated his wounds to the best of her knowledge.

“It’s late,” Eridan said and closed the door. “Why are you not asleep?”

“I did not think it was customary to visit your prisoners in the late evening.”

“You are not my prisoner,” Eridan said surprised. “The door is locked so no one will find you, but by all means. Wander off and let everyone see you.”

“Perhaps if I did so immediately, I would have been able to escape before news of my treachery became known. Why are you here?”

Eridan did not want to say that Equius’ treachery was still unknown to anyone but Ser Makara and the prisoners. In any case, he could not know what rumours may already have been spread. “I fear for anyone finding you. They would have my head in the dead of the night if they found I was hiding you.”

“And so you have finally decided to deal with me?”

Eridan did not like how hopeful his blue knight sounded. “No. I will simply stay here so that I will know whether they have found you or not.”

“Making it doubtless that you are involved in hiding me.”

“She will punish me whether my involvement is vague or obvious,” Eridan reasoned. “I would sooner incriminate myself than spend another sleepless night and see, now the door is locked from the inside. You are no prisoner.” That said, he threw himself down on the bed. He left room for Ser Zahhak, but the knight did not move a muscle. Eridan was asleep before he could chastise him.


	7. KARKAT

Every waking minute was agony to Karkat. He escaped from his nightmares only to watch his companions lie crippled next to him. All the time he feared that his mentally damaged friend would return and end them, or worse. He would feel waves of panic hit him, but he had to silence himself if only for the sake of Tavros and Sollux. He was meant to be the strong and unwavering leader of the revolution. No manacles could hold him and no cell could contain his vision and dreams of a future free of oppression.

His panic had perhaps been written all over his face, despite his efforts in hiding it, because he felt Tavros’ cold hand on his wrist. They were separated by bars, but the cells were small and Tavros had crept as close as he could come.

“Gamzee will aid us. He always does.”

“Not anymore,” Karkat replied mournfully. “The damned Condesce must have him under some black spell.” And that spell was likely sobriety and a susceptible mind.

“You were always able to get through to him.”

“I can’t anymore.” Sollux at his worst was less pessimistic than Karkat at his worst, and that spoke for itself. He felt a cold, hard object pressed into his palm. He looked down and saw the vial containing milk of the poppy. “Do you have pigshit for brains? You should have this.” He was alarmed to see Tavros hadn’t even tasted it. “You must be hurting.”

“I will be hurting more,” Tavros said in his quiet voice, “if we cannot make him remember our friendship. I, I hate to do this to him, but...”

“Even as he is now, I doubt he would ever hurt you,” Karkat said in all honesty. Tavros never knew how deeply and dearly Gamzee had cared for him.

“That, that is hard to believe. And if it is so, let this be for you and Sollux.” He was determined. Karkat was impressed. Though Tavros was not always courageous he was more enduring than any other person who had fought or died for this revolution.

“You are a man grown after all.”

Tavros was too flustered to say anything. Karkat waited for their torturer, executioner, friend, with new hope.


	8. EQUIUS

“What is there even to say about this?”

“I think it sort of sweet,” Nepeta said with a sly look towards her master. “He worries for you.”

“He snores,” Equius said.

They were watching the Prince sleep away the better part of the morning. During the night, Eridan had taken up the entire bed and curled himself into a ball right in the middle. Equius did not care, for he had no mind to share the bed with him.

“He worries for his own neck,” he added. “Not for me.”

“You should have heard him last night when he spoke to me. One would think he was as fond of the company of boys as Ser Makara.” It appeared to please her to no end. “Or the company of strong men.”

“And it would be a disaster if he directed that fondness towards me. Cease your smirking.”

“I think you care about him as well,” Nepeta went on teasing. “You wish he would not risk himself for you. You are feeling guilty!”

“I do not.”

“Yes you do.”

“No.”

“Yes,” she purred.

“No.”

“A thousand times over yes.”

“No.”

They bickered like this until a tired groan alerted them to the waking Prince. Nepeta picked up last night’s dishes and backed out of the room with a truly feline expression and a whispered “ _Yessss_.” She had always been like this. She talked back and corrected and complained, but only to Equius and she always did her duties with affection. He could never reprimand her for anything she said to him, no matter how outrageous. As if he would ever feel sorry for this weak and spoiled creature on his bed. He took his meal and seated himself in the window again. When Eridan woke it was as if he had not moved the entire night.

The Prince tried to hide a yawn. “Have you slept at all?”

“Whether I am in a bed or a chair doesn’t matter; I sleep when I am tired.”

The Prince yawned behind his hands once more. His hair and shirt looked rumpled and he was flushed from sleep. “I slept past breakfast?”

“You slept past lunch.” And Nepeta, after bringing only one breakfast tray, had a mind to bring enough lunch for two. Equius watched out of the corner of his eye as the Prince sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. His nightshirt was loose and barred one shoulder, and Equius thanked his father’s Old Gods that the Prince wore breeches, because his knees were apart and his legs looked so delicate among the linens. He had to look away. How Nepeta toyed with his mind, planting her deranged ideas in his head. He would not offer the Prince’s appearance one more thought. “Perhaps now you will explain why you chose to protect me.”

“Would you quit going on about that?” Eridan groaned. “It should be obvious.”

“To me it is not obvious in the least.”

Eridan scooted forwards to sit on the edge of the bed. He pulled his nightshirt back up on both shoulders and frowned at him. He looked both embarrassed and annoyed. “I need not tell you the story of the Prince and his blue knight.”

“I know of no such story.” And Equius was thoroughly familiar with all the hero tales and stories of old. The art of storytelling was ancient and respectable.

Eridan sighed heavily, as if recounting this tale was a tiresome and embarrassing chore that had to be done. “The blue knight spares the Prince’s life after they meet on the battlefield. His valor and honour inspires the Prince to save the blue knight from being executed for mutiny.”

“Oh.” _Oh_. Yes, it seemed obvious to him now. He had almost forgotten the blue armour he inherited from his father. Everything that had mattered about his father, all the good memories, had paled to the split second he had looked upon his dead body. He had forgotten all about the young Prince. How queer that he should slay a hundred men in one day, yet the only life he forgot was the one he spared. He relaxed. Eridan felt indebted to him. That was all there was to it. “There is no need for you to save my life a second time at the cost of your own.”

“You are awfully eager to die,” Eridan accused. There was hurt in his voice. “I trusted you.”

“I am no knight from a fairytale as you make it out to be.” Equius thought it excessive to explain this, but Eridan looked to have taken his betrayal personal. “I am a knight whose father was killed by the queen he chose to serve for her ideals. When her ideals turned out to be false promises, he could do no more. I hold no love for any lowblood, but I watch their struggle and it pains me. When asked by Vantas to help I was overcome by remorse. I regretted my decision for a time afterwards, but I could not make myself warn the Condesce. Whether I did the right thing or not matters little now. The only thing left is uncertainty as to whether I will live. Your blue knight is no more than an indecisive and a craven.”

“You fool. You became a traitor for something you are not even certain about.” Eridan shook his head, and Equius thought he was right.

“Either way I will not last long in this place, and I fear what they may do to Lady Nepeta.”

Eridan had no reply to that. It was clear to Equius that he only wished to help; he was simply not very good at it.


	9. GAMZEE

“If this is meant to be a meeting of the Small Council, where is the Condesce and the Prince, and what is _he_ doing here?” Ser Serket asked and pointed to Gamzee. He was dressed in a silk doublet with long sleeves that were split down the middle and dyed in the richest violet. It was trimmed with gold and had the sigil and words of House Makara in darker violet upon the breast. Underneath he wore white silk. Ser Serket often remarked on how the words of his House, “In Mirth and Rage”, sounded ridiculous. Gamzee made sure to wear them whenever he was in her presence. He had donned a dark violet half cloak covered entirely with the sigil and words of his house just for her annoyance.

“No one knows where the Prince has gone to,” the Grand Maester said. Maryam was looking ravishing in her green and red gown. No one wore their Maester’s chain more elegantly than her. “He has been missing quite often since the day of the failed uprising. I would not be surprised if he was ashamed to once again find himself at the mercy of another man without satisfactory results.”

Princess Feferi cleared her throat. “I would prefer if you did not speak of your future king in such a manner.”

“Of course, your Highness.” Maryam’s smile looked altogether insincere. She was not an unpleasant woman and rarely one to deal in untruths, but she had no love for the Prince. “As for her Imperious Condescension, she is already dealing with the matter at hand by contacting an old acquaintance. The sooner it is done the better.”

“Explain to us, then,” Ser Serket implored. The best way to describe her was that she had no patience and never wore dresses. She was always aggressive about displaying the sigil and words of her house combined with her personal preference of cobwebs and spiders, as if they made her any more frightening. Her eye patch managed that on its own. She wore breeches and boots that reached to her thighs. Her bodice was leather and black linen.

“We hoped news of this uprising would be contained until the Queensguard had been restored to its full power, but rumours escaped months ago,” Maryam explained to them.

“What difference does that make?” Gamzee asked. “They failed.”

“The difference,” Maryam said dryly. “Is that the western lords are now rallying. House Strider is calling their bannermen. No doubt do they intend on attacking while we are weakened. There is no telling how far the brothers have come or how great an army they have amassed. The women serving at their court are said to be powerful sorceresses.”

“Sorcereres... ers?”

“Witches,” Feferi told him kindly. Gamzee scratched his head in thought.

“Everyone knows there is no such thing,” he said. “The dragons died out and that was that. There is no more magic, no more miracles.” He had learned this the hard way while he was young and had never been the same since. The words of his house were hard to live up to when all one could feel was rage; rage because some son of a shit’s bitch lout had slain the world’s last dragon.

“They are simply skilled in trickery,” Ser Serket told him languidly. “Like Lady Kanaya’s wildfire.”

“Wildfire is no trickery, and you will address me as ‘Maester’,” Maryam spat at her. “The wildfire will burn everything in its path. If indeed these sorceresses use alchemical ‘trickery’ like mine, we would do well to guard ourselves against them.”

“Then let us concoct some wildfire of our own. Fight trickery with trickery,” Ser Seket said and yawned. “All this chatter is boring me. I was told this was the Queen’s Small Council, not a tea party for crotchety women and the court jester. What is the Condesce doing to help our situation?”

“She is writing to Dualscar,” the Princess said triumphantly. She delighted in seeing Ser Serket squirm. Dualscar had once tried to marry Serket to his son; their very own craven princeling. Dualscar had perhaps hoped she would make a man out of him, but she had destroyed the poor boy and sent him wailing back home.

“And how is this hilarious to you?” Ser Serket lashed back at her. “You are the one meant to marry that spineless weakling.”

“If this is how women hold council, I would rather stay uninvited next time,” Gamzee said. Serket had no tact. She loved her games but played no games of politics. She would rather strew around herself with insults and jeers than make allies. She was so eager to make herself disliked she would have gone out to burn down every bridge in the kingdom if the Condesce let her off her leash. House Serket had never been as highly regarded as Makara or even Zahhak, but the Condesce hailed her for her bloodthirsty ways.

“I remind you that Dualscar adores my mother, while yours continues to be an impeccable thorn in his side,” the Princess hissed. Serket knew how to bring out the unladylike sides in her.

“I am sure he will be very curious to know how your betrothing is coming along,” Ser Serket said smoothly.

The bickering of women held no interest to Gamzee. Surely the Grand Maester would force them back on topic once she had her fill of entertainment, but he would not wait around for that to happen. The Grand Maester made no move as to hold him back. Maryam was undoubtedly glad to have one clown less to deal with.

He owed the prisoners a long overdue visit and he took an iron poker from the council room’s fireplace before he headed down. They could only try and shift his allegiance while they bled out on the floor. The Condesce wasn’t concerned whether they lived or died. As for the western lords, Gamzee had no thoughts. To him they were strange men with strange names and customs, but they would die like any other men.

The prisoners had been given little to no food or water. They were in a stupor and did not notice him entering. Gamzee prodded Sollux with the poker and jerked him awake. “Go on, squeal like a pig,” he said, delighting in Sollux’ wail. He hit him across the face next. The hook on the poker left a nasty cut across Sollux’ cheek.

“Gamzee,” Karkat called out to him. “Gamzee, I beg of you to stop!”

Gamzee turned away from his panting and writhing victim to leer at Karkat. “Would you rather I poke at you for a while? Filthy sons of whores who roll around with the dogs and fuck in their own shit; surely some degradation sits well with you lowbloods.” His beautiful silks were sprayed in dark blotches. He crossed the dungeon with the poker dragging against the floor. The sound of iron scraping against stone was music to his ears, but iron to flesh would be all the more satisfying.

“I have something for you,” Karkat told him, but Gamzee was not interested in his words. Words were what the Beggar Knight wrought his armour and sword with. His tongue was poison to the mind, the Condesce said. Gamzee kneeled down in front of Karkat.

“I will rip the poison right out of your throat,” he whispered with glee. Karkat’s confused look did not derail him. He took his face in his hand and forced his jaw open, savoured the smell of fear as it dawned on Karkat what he meant. He expected squirming and thrashing; had looked forward to it. Instead, Karkat shoved a vial in his hand.

“I have no desire to do this to you, my friend,” he said. Tears sprang from his eyes, because Gamzee’s nails were digging into his jaw. “But I would no sooner watch the Condesce fill your head with lies and piss for another moment.”

“Milk of the poppy,” Gamzee observed. The Princess did say she had tried to aid them. “This is your master plot?” he asked and laughed. “Karkat Vantas, it disappoints me to know your last resort is a drop of medicine to sooth pain and calm the mind. Even if I should accept your gift, its effect will pass and in the end change nothing.”

“But you will accept it.”

A more honourable man would have resisted, but Gamzee did not believe in honour like men most. See where it had gotten Karkat and Ser Zahhak. Years had passed since he last felt the calming effects of the poppy and now that it was within his grasp he ached. He knew not to drink much, for then the sleep would take him and he would not be able to savour the euphoria. He sagged against the wall next to Karkat, not minding the filth and mud. As soon as the milk of the poppy took effect, he minded nothing at all. His breathing became shallow and his mind became free of rage and tension.

He had rediscovered mirth, and all the while he had Karkat to pet his hair and soothe him. “Recall how life was pleasant in the time before the Condesce ordered separation?” Karkat said. “Caste was of no matter. Service and camaraderie was one and the same. She would have us all be slaves.”

“Piss on her for stealing our miracles,” Gamzee said with a heavy sigh. “And piss on Vriska Serket, too,” he added as he felt Tavros take his hand through the bars. Gamzee felt such grief for him. “And piss on me too, I presume.” He was too detached to feel sorry for Sollux, but he had stolen his mirth away and replaced it with blood and bleeding and... Words were complicated.

“Do you remember we would play knights?” Tavros asked softly. “Or, rather, you would play with me,” he hurried to correct himself. “I knew I could never be a true knight, but you snuck out swords and lances and taught me. I was never very good, but you gave me such courage.”

“I recall,” Gamzee said fondly. It was too bad Sollux could not be invited to their pile of reminiscence. He would lie here for all eternity was it not for the Condesce.


	10. FEFERI

After the disastrous Small Council, Feferi had been considerably upset. She had deemed it time to speak to her mother the Condesce and set her views on the betrothal straight. Soon she came to regret this, and later she could be found in the Grand Maester’s library, trying to hold her tears back. She was not one to cry with ease, but it seemed to her that the Gods saw it fit to keep her from anything she might desire. She would hold her head high and proud as she did her mother’s bidding, but it was best not to be seen in public with her eyes bloodshot from containing her sorrow.

Who else would she encounter in the Grand Maester’s library than the object of her frustration? She had not seen Prince Eridan for days, he kept busy and would speak to no one, but now she saw him rifling through shelves of books. As a girl she had lived between those particular shelves and she knew very well that they contained hero tales and stories of old.

“My Prince,” she said as she approached him. “I never knew you to enjoy storybooks.”

“Hm?” The Prince turned around with a wild look in his eyes, as if he was caught doing something unsavoury. “Lady Feferi! Forgive me. I expected you to be Maester Maryam and, well, I thought it time I took an interest. There comes a time in a man’s life when he must consider what stories his sons and daughters should be told.”

“I take it you have not asked permission to indulge in her collection,” Feferi said sweetly. She did not believe for an instant that Prince Eridan was concerned with the duties of a father. This lecher was no doubt only interested in the prestige of getting her with child. She might as well tell him the good news. “Sooner or later my mother will send someone to inform you, so I would just as well tell it to you myself. A date has been set for our betrothal. It will be done before the end of the week.”

She watched his expression with care. The Prince looked bewildered at first, but he soon smiled with delight. “And about time,” he exclaimed. “Are you not excited for your long-awaited wedding day, my love?”

She smiled in return. “Of course. I have been contemplating my dress all morning. I would have it in the most vibrant purple and magenta to celebrate the union of House Ampora and House Peixes. I would have it trimmed with cloth of gold, I think, and you could wear a cape to match.” Her answer seemed to satisfy him. Surely he did not think a woman could have other concerns than her clothes and her hair.

“Is it wrong to ask why the Condesce has finally decided?”

“Your father is coming to assist against the invasion,” she said offhandedly. She loved how the prince squirmed and paled. “It would be undesirable to have him think my mother did not intend to uphold their agreement.”

“What invasion?”

“The one with the western lords involved,” she said, walking away from him. Like a scared puppy he followed.

“House Strider?”

“With their bannermen, but I hear the women of the western world are as fierce as their lords. They do not differ between gender and caste,” she said wistfully. “That goes for their enemies too; they will slay everyone in their path.”

“Is that so?” the Prince asked. He seemed taken over by nerves. “And they are coming here? When? How do we know this?”

“You should ask Maester Maryam or Ser Serket,” Feferi told him at the library door. She gave him her brightest smile yet. “I am more concerned with seeing the seamstress, myself. I heard she received a shipment of exciting new satins today.” She swore she saw a hint of desire in the Prince’s expression, but he proceeded to walk off and roll his eyes when he thought she was not looking. She did not know what she had done for the Gods to curse her with this idiot princeling.


	11. ROSELINE

House Lalonde had always served the royal house. There had not been a king in the west for years, but Rose served the Prince Regent faithfully as his chronicler. She had known him and his brother since they were babes and had personally put to paper the story of their father the King’s unfortunate demise and their struggles to achieve peace in the western kingdom. It was unfathomable to Rose, but Dietrich had always insisted that they address him as Prince even after the tragedy of the King’s death.

Though she retained that her only interest was to be a scribe, it had become known throughout the land that Lady Roseline possessed mystical talents. First of all she spat at those who would call her by this name. Second, if there were no dragons in the world there could be no magic. This was the matter that plagued her every waking hour. Her husband Lord John, formerly Hand to the late King, rarely saw her. They had two daughters who also dabbled in the arts, but Rose had little time for them either. She had hoped the Prince Regent would take Jane for his Queen, but his interests seemed to lie elsewhere. Lord John was left to look after the girls.

She was on the verge of a breakthrough in her research when there was a sharp rapping at her chamber door. At first she ignored it, but the rapping continued until she could no longer stand it. It figured that the brother of the Prince Regent would be the one so insistent upon interrupting her.

“Ser David, I am in the process of uncovering matters of great consequence,” she said in a huff. She was one of the few who knew how to tell the brothers apart. Both were handsome young men with the palest of platinum blond hair, and neither cared for titles nor custom. Ser David would be a Prince Regent as soon as Prince Dietrich was a knight, and only their clothes would tell them apart. They shared their duties equally to the frustration of many.

“You are radiant as always, Lady Rose,” he complimented her like one might a favourite aunt. She did not take to his flattery, lovely as she was in her black and violet velvet gown. “My brother requires your aid in a quest to liberate the people of the mainlands. We have received reports that the commoners are planning an uprising against the Condesce. My brother hopes to aid them in their cause.” His voice never held even a sliver of emotion, but he spoke more hushed and quickly than usual.

“How does the Prince Regent mean to defeat her, even in a weakened state?” Rose asked. Her Imperious Condescension was not a foe to be taken lightly. Nevertheless she let Ser David in to her chamber and closed the door. It would be better for no one to hear.

“That is where you are needed. A commoner by the name of Aradia Megido fled here from the mainlands when the Condesce took the throne. She has since been an enthusiastic researcher of ruins and ancient civilizations. She came back from an island far to the east with reports that greatly fascinated my brother.”

“Spit it out, then,” Rose urged him. She had no time for the Prince’s trivia if it was not relevant to her.

“Dragons, Rose.” He had her attention, then. “Megido claimed she had found the shells of fresh hatchlings. You have always been vague as to what the nature of your powers are, even to Dirk and I. You must tell me now if your magic is real, if these dragons could be possible.”

“It is most possible,” Rose said with a heavy heart. “It is inescapable.” Her magic was true and that could only mean one thing. She feared what this might mean to the land and the people she loved, but she understood why Dave had come to her and she knew what must be done. She did not fear her power or the dragons. “How do you intend on doing this?”

“We will ready our fleet for the invasion of the eastern kingdom,” Dave explained. “The fleet will make a stop to prepare for battle while one ship sets out for the island. I will captain the ship and Megido will navigate. If you recall Lady Harley, her son will also be with us.”

“Of course I remember her and Jake.”

“Ser Jacob,” Dave corrected her. She knew he only did it to annoy her “We would also like the assistance of yourself and Lady Roxanne.”

Rose dreaded to let her daughter go anywhere at all. Jane was her father’s daughter in looks and nature, but Roxy was all hers. They were like sisters, and Roxy shared her arcane talents. The dragons were as much her concern as they were Rose’s. “I will let my husband know.” Ser John would have no say in the matter. He would try and prevent her from going or worse; join.


	12. VRISKA

There was no greater pleasure in the world than to wake up every morning and be Ser Vriska Serket, Commander of the Queensguard. She paraded the hallways and the walls as if she owned them, and it was not far from the truth. The Condesce valued her advice above that of her own daughter and she had a whole city to abuse for her own entertainment. This day was only marred by a trifle of a wound she had received while raiding a farm owned by alleged sympathizers of the revolution. While she was setting fire to their stables, one of the horses had kicked her.

Her armour withstood the force of the kick, but one of her pauldrons had been crushed into her shoulder. It would not have hurt her had she not insisted on getting up and slaying the horse, causing the pauldron to dig into her skin. The gash was minor, but the Grand Maester insisted on stitching it up. Vriska was convinced Maester Maryam had a not-so-secret desire to stab her with needles repeatedly.

“If you are able to give your torching and slaughtering a rest, there should not be much scarring,” Maester Maryam told her.

“And how would that be of any amusement to me?” Vriska asked. “For once I may give the commoners what they deserve, but the Condesce will not allow our hunt to continue indefinitely. I must make the best of this time.”

“It was my hopes that your fickle mind had shifted its attention from innocent citizens to our western enemies.”

“I need to warm up somehow,” Vriska reasoned.

“That was what worried me. It seems I am the only one with the kingdom’s best interest in mind.” Maryam finished the stitches with unnecessary brutality. “We are in enough trouble as it is without you and Ser Makara beating and killing our own. If the Condesce will not tell you to stop, I will.” Vriska made no attempt to hide her displeasure. “There is no fun in being conquered.”

“You are meddling in things you should know better than to concern yourself with.”

“Then let us make a deal.”

This was a lot more interesting to Vriska. She would have to admit, there was not much sport in killing lowbloods. No delicacy or cunning was required to set a few peasants on fire. “What do you propose?”

Maryam rose from her seat to unlock one of her cabinets. She carried the key on a silver chain around her neck. “It has become apparent to me that the only person less reliable than you is Ser Makara. If the castle is laid under siege, there is no telling what his broken mind might drive him to do. While you fight to protect the Condesce, he would sooner murder us all in our sleep than look at us.”

Whether this was meant as a compliment or not, Vriska was not certain. She prided herself as the most gruesome and bloodthirsty warrior. Ser Makara was a fool and shameful to work with, but she could not deny that the state of his mind was as disputable as his intentions. She enjoyed toying with her victims, but _her_ games had rules. “Would you want me to slay him?” she asked. The idea did not bother her. “He is dying to join the raids. I could easily have him trapped inside a burning house, or claim a peasant ran him through with his own sword. No one would doubt his incompetence.”

“I would not have you kill him. The Condesce may not care, but we would be madder than Ser Makara to make enemies of his house.”

Vriska was bored by the Grand Maester’s consistent indignation. “So be it,” she sighed. “I was only teasing, but you ceased to be entertaining long ago. Your replies are predictable at best. What would you have me do?”

“Give him this,” Maryam said. She set a vial down on the table. “He once suffered a strong addiction to the milk of the poppy. The Condesce has not allowed him even a taste of it, even in his most painful hours, because it would render him useless to us. He would relapse into his addiction at once.”

“Too easy!” Vriska said. She took the vial and pocketed it. “Nevertheless I shall enjoy ruining him.”

“I let you do this, and in return you will try and discipline yourself.”

“As you say.” Vriska left the Grand Maester’s chambers. She would have to find new ways of amusing herself for a while. One crossed paths with her almost immediately. It was the foreign princeling. As he spotted her, he came towards her. That was something she had not experienced before.

“Ser Serket,” he said. “I would ask a favour of you.”

“A favour?” Surely it had to be a jest. She did no favours for this pathetic child. He should know better than to ask.

“One you may enjoy,” he added.

“If you are in need of advice for your wedding night, _please_ ; the best advice in the world could not make you an adequate mate.”

“Ser Serket,” the Prince said affronted. “I had hoped to avoid the pleasantries this time.” He was trying so hard not to be offended and to shout at her. Vriska was delighted.

“You had better get a bed with tall, sturdy bedposts. She will need one after you have failed to satisfy her and she knows. I was there when the Condesce informed her of your betrothal. She was in _tears_.”

“I am not here to listen to your foul lies,” the Prince hissed. “I have had about enough of your boorish manners. I had thought you would enjoy the task of ruining Ser Makara.”

Vriska was not surprised that so many would hunger for the clown’s blood. “For what reason?” she asked, and now she spoke pleasantly in a silky smooth voice. She was possibly more curios in her nature than she was malicious, but only marginally so.

“He knows something that is not for him to know. It would be bad for us all should he speak of it.” The Prince retrieved a vial from the inner pocket of his cloak. “The milk of the poppy is sure to render him helpless and unable to recollect.”

The situation had reached a level of idiocy that Vriska had a hard time coping with. She would sooner stab the jester than feed into his addiction like some weak woman who used poisons and concoctions for weapon. With all these mind-poisoners afoot, she would have to start watching what she ate and drank. “Does he know something that would reflect badly upon you?” she asked sweetly.

“After hearing of my plan to deal with him, would you honestly wish to know?” the Prince asked. “I chose you because you do not care for the intrigues of the court. You would do this for your own amusement.”

She did truly wish to know, but not from the Prince who was so wrong in his assumptions of her. “I would,” she agreed and took the vial. Ser Makara would have enough milk of the poppy to last him years. “Good luck on your betrothal, your Highness,” she said with spite before she left him. How someone so stupid was still alive puzzled her.

She went with haste to find Ser Makara. This was no easy task, for he had curled himself up in a tight little ball and hidden away in the undercroft. And what a sight he was! His body was drenched in cold sweat and he seemed anxious and irritable, even more so than usual. She recognized the looks of a man who was feeling the effects of the poppy dissipate. Had everyone gone out of their way to destroy the poor knight? Surely a knife through the throat was more merciful. She knelt by him.

“Ser Makara,” she spoke softly. “Are you in much pain?”

“Away, Serket,” he sneered at her. “I am in no need for a whore’s spawn, a rat in a knight’s clothing, filth of a pirate wench’s womb. Leave me to my suffering, piss-mouthed bitch.”

She withdrew a vial and dangled it in front of his eyes. He immediately launched himself at it, but she was too quick. “I will let you have this, but only if you tell me what secret you are keeping for Prince Eridan.”

“Anything. Give it to me, woman!” She let him have it. He looked desperate and pathetic to her as he consumed some of the drink. He shuddered in pleasure and his body relaxed.

“Now, tell me.”

“Ser Zahhak is a traitor.” He was so far gone, Vriska was sure he would not even remember giving up this information.

“Some have already suggested as much. Other rumours speak of him as a captive by the remaining revolutionaries.”

“He is not,” Ser Makara assured her. “He is still in the castle.”

“Where?” Vriska demanded. Ser Makara grinned. His head lolled to the side. She grabbed his filthy doublet by the collar and pulled him up. “Tell me where Ser Zahhak is!” she demanded. “Is the Prince hiding him?” That made the Prince a traitor. How delightful that would be, but Makara had nothing more to tell her. She drew out the other vial. “What more do you have to tell me?” she insisted as he groped for the vial.

“The Princess,” Ser Makara whispered.

“What about her?”

“Her heart. It is safe with me. I keep her dreams and hopes. A knight can be a keeper too,” Ser Makara rambled.

Vriska narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “What are you keeping for her?”

“Her teacher.” It was all he could say before he succumbed to a stupor, but it was enough for Vriska to understand what he meant. She let Ser Makara keep both vials and wandered off. She had uncovered several delicious, filthy truths. Now she had to contemplate over how to best make us of them. It would not do to bring the Prince down until the unfortunate marriage had taken place, but she knew Ser Zahhak had a servant. She might do for now.


	13. DIETRICH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because it's German and way cooler than Diederik.

The fleet would leave port in less than an hour. All the knights were in armour for the departure, as the entire capital was there to send them off. Dirk and Rose were aboard a ship with Megido and Ser Jacob, and from the railing they watched the captain of the flagship proceed up the gangplank. The Prince Regent’s armour was enamelled with cerise and fuchsia. His cape was cloth-of-gold, so heavy it barely moved in the breeze that rolled in over them from the ocean. The broken disk that was House Strider’s sigil was upon his breast, inlaid with gold and rubies. In the bright sunlight he looked a precious gem, waving goodbye to his people.

“I have never seen a suit of armour of such fine craftsmanship, but his choice of colours is staggering,” Lady Rose said. She herself always took to the black and purple.

“I think it suits him perfectly. My brother has never looked better.”

Lady Rose looked to him with a critical eye. Ser David’s armour was red and gold, his cape black. The half-helmet obscured Dirk’s eyes, but there was no fooling mother Lalonde.

“That is not Dietrich Strider, Prince Regent up there, is it?”

“It might not be.”

“ _Might_ it be then, that our dear Prince Regent intends on shirking his duties as captain of the fleet in order to risk his life hunting dragons?”

“Dave wished to lead an invasion. Who am I to say no when a noble brother asks?”

“The Prince Regent,” Lady Rose said stiffly. Dirk only shrugged. This was not an easy feat while wearing armour.

“I have no interest in standing out here sweating all day. I hope Dave enjoys himself,” he said and removed his helmet before he looked for his friends. The ladies and Ser Jacob were gathered around a crate, playing cards. Ser Jacob had already removed most of his armour and sat in his shirt and greaves. He was tanned from adventure, never one to sit still if he could help it. At the moment he and Lady Roxanne were listening intently to the stories of Aradia Megido.

“Someone of my low caste would never have survived under the Condesce’s rule. I knew I had to flee. Many of us did, and I was one of the fortunate who escaped here. Since I reached shore, I never saw another from the mainland kingdom. I am glad all the same, for the west has given me opportunities I never would have had back home.”

Ser Jacob seemed to be enraptured by her. Why shouldn’t he be? This foreign girl was exotic and beautiful. She was dressed in a gown of black and greys with a dark red gemstone on her breast. Next to her was Lady Roxanne, who in turn seemed to be taken by Ser Jacob. Her gown was white and fuchsia, and a long, pink shawl was wrapped around her shoulders. How good for Ser Jacob that Dirk was there to sort this situation out.

“Jake, I would like you to have the command with me.” He insisted on using his pet name at all times, correcting anyone else who might try the same.

“It will be my pleasure, Ser David,” he replied brightly. Had he been as bright in the head as in his demeanour, Dirk’s existence would have been a far less troublesome one. He would lament to his brother how misfortunate he was to have taken pity on Ser Jacob, but Dave would only shake his head and tell him “pity” was not the right word.

“I suspect you are not the least bit frightened of the dangers that await us,” Dirk remarked after they had said farewell to the ladies and left them to their stories and cards.

“Not at all!” Ser Jacob exclaimed. “If we do meet a dragon, as a true knight it is my duty to fight it and best it. I will let it taste my steel and my courage. Surely you are also excited for this opportunity to do a true knight’s work, Ser David.”

Dirk would not mind tasting Ser Jacob’s steel himself before they reached their destination. He did not think him much of a swordsman; he had seen him spar with his brother and was not impressed. Then again, Dave was as skilled as Dirk was. The Striders were supreme in the art of swordplay. “I believe my brother would have us tame the dragons if possible. Should we train the hatchlings until they are grown, they can prove to be weapons unmatched.”

Ser Jacob became flustered. “The Prince Regent is good at thinking ahead.”

“As is necessary of a monarch. Is it for him you are fighting?”

“Hah! I am a knight of the Kingsguard. Of course I fight for his Royal Highness. I do it gladly. Though, it puzzles me why he should reject my suggestion of changing our name to the Princeguard.” He looked crestfallen for a moment, but immediately brightened up again. “I know he must have longed to join our excursion. As that is impossible, he will instead be able to rest easy knowing his brother and I, his most faithful servant, has gone in his place.”

Ser Jacob was hardly a man grown. His front teeth were too big and made him look all the more a child. Dirk tried not to find him endearing. “As his ‘most faithful servant’ you should refer to him as Dirk, even in my presence.”

“He is too kind,” Ser Jacob said.

The first ship was setting sail. They would soon follow, but in the meantime they watched as the fleet came into movement. More ships would join them along their way, but the splendour of the royal fleet was indisputable. Dirk did not care to watch the launch. Jake was hanging over the railing with the wind rustling his shirt and his hair. His jade enamelled greaves and cuisses reflected the beautiful, cloud free sky. For this, Dirk had asked his brother to trade places with him. He would adventure and then liberate a kingdom with his faithful Ser Jacob at his side.


	14. ERIDAN

Whoever had stayed in the western tower before them had been a lucky man. Though he had likely ended up with his head on a spike, he had gone to bed every evening with views of a spectacular sunset. Due to the heat, one window was left open and the curtains fluttered, white and near transparent on a hot breeze rolling in from the sea.

“I thought I would be glad,” Eridan was complaining. “For years I have waited to be betrothed to Princess Feferi, but she seems a tad reluctant to me. I am doubting our feelings toward one another and I cannot understand why. This used to be so clear to me.”

“Love is not something that comes over you the moment you are told to marry someone,” Equius explained to him. “It can be a sudden, intense passion that comes over you the instant you meet, but it may also be something you build over time. That kind of love burns long and steady, and will last you longer even if it may not shine so brightly to begin with.”

Eridan adored the way Equius spoke of these things. He made them sound as if they mattered to him, and they mattered to Eridan as well. “I used to burn so brightly for her,” he murmured. “It _can_ last, I truly believe so, but the fire must be fed by mutual feelings. I simply feel no love from her anymore.”

“It may still come to you.”

Eridan hoped it would. Hopefully she would find her love for him before she discovered he was hiding a traitor. He still feared discovery, but it did not seem so scary when he had his blue knight right next to him.

“Have you ever married, Ser Zahhak?”

Equius opened his eyes again and sighed. “Let us clarify a few things.”

“What things?”

“I am no longer a knight. There is no need to name me Ser. Though the Condesce has not stripped me of my title yet, there is only a question of time until she does.”

“What do I call you, then?” Eridan asked. He would call him his blue night, but he had tried that already. It had not been popular.

“Zahhak will do fine.”

“If I choose to call you Equius?”

“Then there is nothing I can do to hinder you, is there? And the other thing that needs clarification; if you plan on making a habit of crawling into my bed it will be in order to sleep.”

Eridan had not exactly given Equius a choice. He had entered the room after Equius had gone to bed and wormed his way under the linens. “Understood.”

“Thank you.”

“But answer my question.” He watched Equius grimace. The former knight was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. Eridan could see his profile clearly outlined against the sundown. He was a handsome man with tall cheekbones and a well-shaped nose. With all his other qualities, it saddened Eridan to know he was all alone and unloved by anyone other than his servant.

“I never married,” he said. “There was a girl, before the Condesce came. My father picked her out; a lowblood. Our situation was... complicated. She fled the war and would not return to me when she heard I had pledged allegiance to the new Queen.”

Eridan looked away in regret of bringing up such a topic. Equius’ long hair was tickling his face. Shyly he brushed the silky, black strands away. “Is there no one left for you but the cat girl?”

“Nepeta is enough.”

Eridan said nothing to this. He threaded his fingers through a few more stray strands of hair. He could not hear his own thoughts for how hard his heart hammered in his chest. Equius spoke of sudden and intense passion at first sight, and how foolish he was not to have known immediately. Ashamed of himself, he hid his face into the pillow and hoped that perhaps the world would be sorted in the morning.


	15. NEPETA

She had counted every cat in the keep twice. She had played with the kittens and hissed at the mean old tomcats that would bother them. She climbed the roofs and was as steady balancing on the walls as she was walking in the streets. The castle was running out of things for her to do when she was not tending to Equius. The Prince was spending more time in his tower every day, and she would not interrupt. She had a sense for these sorts of things and she would let it play out naturally. She thought it wonderful that someone else finally recognized her master’s virtues.

Nepeta had nothing against helping the other girls. They cared little for her, but appreciated her help when wet laundry needed to be dried. They would send Nepeta up the walls to fasten clotheslines. She did so happily, at loss of what else to do with her time. She found sport in chasing pigeons and rats, but she knew not to do it when people were watching. For some reason they found it queer.

She had stalked one particularly nimble rat through most of the keep. The better part of the morning had passed while she indulged in her pursuit and she was surprised to run into Ser Serket. Usually the Commander of the Queensguard would sleep in. She took her eyes off the rat and curtseyed, hoping Ser Serket had not noticed what she was doing.

“You,” Ser Serket said. Nepeta winced. She was not so fortunate as to be ignored this time. “You are the girl of House Leijon, are you not?”

“I am Lady Nepeta Leijon, yes.”

“Do not _lady_ me, servant girl. Your house serves Zahhak, does it not?”

Nepeta was eyeing her escape routes. She had never liked or trusted Ser Serket. She would not allow her master to be found by her of all possible people. “What is it to you?”

“Your master is a friend of mine. Come,” Ser Serket said. She took Nepeta into an empty chamber. She seemed anxious not to be overheard or watched. “I know of his treachery, but I understand his actions.”

“You do?” Nepeta did not want to trust her, but who _could_ they trust? “What are your intentions, if I may ask...?”

Ser Serket put her hands on Nepeta’s shoulders and looked at her intently and with purpose. “I know Ser Zahhak is hidden within the castle, but that is not your issue. I heard of his location through Ser Makara, and in his current state he would tell anyone who asked. It will be a matter of minutes before the entire castle knows.”

Nepeta went rigid with fear. “Is there nothing you can do?”

“Not me,” Ser Serket lamented and shook her head. “I would be a traitor too, should I do anything to Ser Makara. Is there no way you can flee the castle?”

“There are secret corridors, but...” Nepeta furrowed her brows with worry. “Making it out without being seen would still take a miracle.”

“Then there is nothing to be done.” Ser Serket shook her head in despair. “Unless... At the moment, Ser Makara is under the influence. He would not be much of a challenge. You are quick and nimble, are you not?”

Nepeta nodded uncertainly. “That I am. What, are you suggesting I end him?”

“Terrible as it is, I see no other way for Ser Zahhak to remain hidden.”

Nepeta did not take pleasure in killing unnecessarily. She hunted her birds and her rats, and before the uprising Equius would take her hunting in the woods. He had taught her never to take the life of an animal she would not consume or which threatened her life, and Equius himself would never harm any creature other than men who could defend themselves. Nepeta did not think herself incapable of killing a man if circumstances demanded it. “Is it the only way?”

“It is the only way. Ser Makara is sleeping off his intoxication in the undercroft. Be swift.”

Ser Serket did not need to tell her twice. Nepeta left the room and stalked the castle like a shadow. She stole her way down to the kitchen and relieved them of a knife before she continued further down towards the undercroft.

Her palm grew sweaty around the wooden handle. She should not feel this nervous about serving her master. Perhaps she should have spoken with Equius before taking to such drastic measures, but there was no time. Equius would no doubt argue that Ser Makara was of a higher caste and his intentions unclear. Nepeta respected that, but it was her duty to keep Equius’ honour from killing him. She would take care of this dishonourable act so that her master would be safe and his mind free of guilt.

The undercroft was shut off by a heavy wooden door. She tried the handle. It was not locked, but it took all her might to open it. She stepped into the undercroft, wary of her unfamiliar surroundings. The undercroft was a series of stone rooms, dark but for a lamp at the far end of the first room. She was silent as a cat as she advanced. Ser Makara was visible in the orange glow of the lamp, looking half asleep as he held around himself and shivered. Nepeta told herself it was no different from putting down a sick dog. That was what Ser Makara looked like to her; a haggard and sickly animal whose time had run out too soon.

She approached him with the knife in her hand and took a handful of his hair to pull his head back and bare his throat. She did not think him capable of fighting back. As the world span around, she realized she was much mistaken. She flailed wildly and heard a wail.

“What is...? Crazy girl!” A pained grunt was followed by a series of curses. The lamp was knocked over and flickered out. A hand grappled with her hold on the knife. She had not expected this skinny man to be so strong. She bit and clawed. When she felt the knife catch flesh, she put all her force behind it and drove it in deeper. A spray of something warm and wet hit her face and a scream pierced her ears. The handle was wet with blood. She lost her grip and heard the slurping noise of flesh letting go of metal. Again she grappled him for the knife, but now he had the advantage.

“Die!” she screamed at him in frustration. She could see nothing and she felt herself overpowered. It did not matter that Ser Makara had her pressed against the floor. His movement was sluggish and uncoordinated. She could not get the knife back, so she seized him by the wrist and tried pressing the blade back against his throat. Her two hands against one of his was an even match, until the blood on her fingers made her slip. She lost her grip on Makara’s hand, which shot forwards out of his control. Nepeta gasped as the metal tore into her flesh. Their struggle ceased.

“No, no, no, no,” she heard Makara’s faint voice. “Not the little cat lady. Please, please be alright.”

She could not answer him. For a while she felt very cold, before warmth consumed her and drew her into blissful nothingness.


	16. FEFERI

The Small Council was gathered. Even the Condesce was present for the final arrangements of the betrothal. Feferi was dressed in her favourite dress of light, sky blue fabrics and clear gemstones. Her appearance was greatly humbled by that of her mother. Grand Maester Maryam, Prince Eridan and Ser Serket had all tried to look their best for this special occasion, as the Condesce was usually too busy to join them. She meant to assure that the arrangement was delayed no further.

While they were laying out the last plans, the doors were thrown open. Every head turned towards the tallest man of the Queensguard. Ser Makara was wounded and drenched in blood. Three sharp cuts crossed his nose and he looked to be bleeding heavily from his thigh. In his arms he held the body of a girl. They all recognized her. No one fully knew her name, but they had seen her about the castle.

“What is the meaning of this?” Ser Serket asked. Feferi wondered if she imagined the pleasure in Serket’s voice. “We are in Council.”

“Will someone tell me,” Ser Makara panted. “What in a whore’s bloody shit is going on.” With a grunt he fell to his knee, dropping the body before him. To everyone’s surprise it was the Prince who sprang up from his seat and saw to the girl first.

“What have you _done_?” There was genuine horror in his shaking voice. “ _Maester_!”

The Condesce said that had she even been alive still, one of such low caste was not worth the trouble of the Grand Maester. The Prince had better resume his position at the table before he dirtied his clothes.

“Are you not going to punish him?” Prince Eridan screamed. The Condesce reminded him that she was no more than a servant and that Ser Makara had yet to explain himself. She did not show a hint of remorse and Feferi thought she might even be amused.

“She attacked me,” Ser Makara told them reluctantly. “I do not understand why? The girl must have been confused. It was never my intention to harm her, but it was so dark. So, so dark.” He quivered. Dark rings under his eyes suggested he was suffering from anxiety still.

“How easy to dismiss the signs of another uprising,” Ser Serket scoffed. “She was obviously part of a second conspiracy. Your Highness, if I may; these revolutionaries must have found a way into this poor girl’s head and made her a weapon for their cause. So long as they live, they pose a threat to us and everyone who supports you, your Highness.”

“They have no way of plotting with anyone,” Feferi protested. “Who would that be? Their prison guards?”

“That may be enough.”

“The Princess is right, this is ridiculous,” Ser Makara grunted. “And that said, I... I would rest a little.” He collapsed on the floor. The Condesce told Maester Maryam to tend to him before he soiled the rug. Makara and the dead girl were carried away with the help of two guards.

A thick silence had fallen. Feferi broke it before her fear paralyzed and silenced her completely. “Killing the prisoners is no solution, your Highness. They would become martyrs for their cause. It would enrage the lowbloods.”

“How much more enraged could they possibly become?” Ser Serket asked. “Your Highness, I would have them all slain now. Any one lowblood not useful to your Highness is one that is too dangerous to keep alive.”

The Condesce silenced them both. She looked to Prince Eridan and asked what his opinion on this was. The Prince looked frightened and surprised that she addressed him.

“I do not know, your Highness. I cannot imagine Lady Nepeta would join the revolutionaries. That they are to blame is dubious at best. It seems Ser Makara is not in an accountable state.”

His musings only seemed to bore her. The Condesce said it was of no consequence what any of them supposed. The prisoners would be beheaded after the betrothing ceremony had taken place so that the wedding could be held soon after without concerns of revolutionaries.


	17. ROXANNE

The voyage across the sea was lengthy and Roxy had spent the better part of it under the influence. Rather than water she drank a crudely distilled spirit of juniper berries, and she did not even know if her mother cared. The juniper spirits were meant as medication to ward off plague, but she found it was little more than a more potent alcohol. Everyone had come to take her habit for granted and it was fine. Their ship had parted with the fleet and was heading for the uncharted island Megido had spoken of. Roxy was at the bow. The wind caught in her shawl and whipped around her face. A glass of juniper spirits was cantering in her hand.

“You had best be careful, Lady Roxanne,” Ser Jacob told her. He took the glass from her before she spilt the drink all over herself.

“Roxy, please,” she slurred happily. She felt Prince Dietrich’s eyes on her from afar. By now, anyone that was not Jake had realized that Ser David was commanding the fleet. Most of the men had expected as much, but Jake was too naïve. “Is that land I see ahead?”

“It is, m’lady. Very soon we will have these rumours of dragons confirmed.”

“And you...” She covered her mouth as she hiccupped. “You are confident we will confuddle... foncirm...” Jake was always chivalrous to her, but he was chivalrous to anyone. A less honourable woman would have found it easy to take advantage of him, but Roxy was quite certain her sister Jane had shown interest in Jake for some time. She would do nothing to break her sister’s heart.

“Oh, I am most confident we will foncirm— _confirm_ their existence. Your mother explained to me once how dragons and magic are connected. It seems only right that our mission will succeed.”

“I hope your way of reasoning never fails us,” Roxy said in good humour. They had reached shore and would soon see. Jake was kind enough to take Roxy’s hand and help her out onto the sandy beach.

“This’s it,” she slurred as she looked up to the volcanic mountain that towered over the surrounding jungle. It seemed a likely place for dragons to nest. Megido came onto shore after them with Rose and nodded in approval.

“This is the place. I will lead the way through the jungle.” She was a resourceful woman used to harsh elements. With breeches and a hat on her head and a whip at her side, she looked a true adventurer. She had assured them the walk would not be far, and Roxy and Rose had not changed from their gowns. They were ladies and sorceresses, Rose had said, not brutish men meant for stumbling around in the wilderness. A sorceress had to look her part.

It warmed Roxy’s heart to have her mother speak of her as a true wielder of magic. She had her needles with her, like her mother, but she had sworn not to use them if not absolutely necessary. As she stumbled and wobbled her way through the jungle, she was not certain she even remembered how to cast a single spell. It would happen more often than not that she forgot her magic and resorted to hitting people with her fists. Thankfully she had not been exposed to many dangerous situations so far in her life.

They moved through the jungle in a slow procession. Megido had recommended that the knights wear only cotton shirts and leather jerkins, for the jungle was hot and wet. Prince Dietrich had taken her advice, but Ser Jacob had insisted he wear his armour. He had this glamorous vision in his mind of bold knights slaying dragons single-handedly in full, shining armour, and he was telling Megido all about it while they walked. She seemed relieved when they found the foot of the mountain.

“There are caves connected by tunnels. This is where I am less certain as to where we should go. I was in a hurry to leave when I first visited, for I was alone and did not know what might await me deeper inside.”

They lit torches and Rose mapped their way to the best of her abilities while they continued ahead. It would not do to get lost. They hoped to return quickly and join the invasion before it was over. A silence overcame them, because the caves held an ominous presence. Not one of them was able to wrap their heads around it, but Rose seemed deeply unsettled and that did not have a good effect on the rest. Roxy tried to sense what her mother might be sensing, but all she felt was an oncoming headache. She should not have left the ship without even a drop of spirits upon her person. The stains on her bodice did not count. Those who were not Rose could only detect a faint, repetitive tapping from all around them.

“What do you reckon that is?” Roxy asked.

“Water dripping against the cave floor,” Prince Dietrich responded.

“The noise is irregular. It seems to me that it is moving,” Ser Jacob argued. “Surely it could be the tapping of the claws of hatchling dragons.” He sounded both excited and eager about this idea. “These caves would greatly magnify the sound.”

“These caves would greatly magnify the sounds of dripping water,” Prince Dietrich said, ever the realist.

“Dave, have you come all this way without even thinking the dragons are real?” Ser Jacob said and snickered. “Your brother would in the very least suspend his disbelief until we were sure.”

“I will believe in dragons when I see a reason to believe in dragons with my own eyes. My brother would no doubt feel the same way.”

“Hush. Do you hear that?” Megido asked. They silenced themselves and listened intently. The tapping had stopped. Whatever had made it must have left or noticed their presence. They continued without a word, holding their breaths in expectation of what they might find. “Here are the shells I discovered last time,” Megido told them. They had reached a hollow in the ground that had been filled with trampled hay and dirt. In the centre were the remains of several eggs.

“What did I say?” Ser Jacob exclaimed. “It was as I predicted. This is no leftover from ancient times. There are dragon hatchlings here!”

“Quiet,” Rose warned him. “We must search for the hatchlings and be on our way. The mother is doubtlessly close by.” She did not appear to be as thrilled by the idea of fighting dragons as Ser Jacob was.

A flare erupted at the far end of the tunnel. It looked to be a massive fire. Someone shouted, but this female voice was immediately drowned out by a deafening roar.

“Someone is in danger,” Ser Jacob called out. He was running towards the voice before anyone could stop him. Megido was in hot pursuit trying to stop the foolish knight. Roxy reached for her needles, but Rose and Dirk were way ahead of her.

A huge, monstrous gape full of teeth appeared from the tunnel. Its snout and neck were long and sleek, decked in white scales. Red eyes burned with a bestial madness. It had great, white wings tucked against its sleek body. First it snapped after Ser Jacob, who tumbled out of its way. Megido cracked her whip across the dragon’s snout. The leather wound around it tightly, but the dragon tore its jaws open without much effort.

The whip was in shreds and Megido lost her balance. The dragon struck out as quick as a snake, raking her with its teeth. It would have bitten her in half had not Ser Jacob hacked at it with his sword. It growled and hissed. With another cry it released a storm of flames that swallowed the room. Roxy was sure this was the end. In the midst of the roaring fire she heard a female voice calling out once more.

“Pyralspite, to me!” The voice sounded to her like the fragment of a dream. Any moment she would feel the flames bite into her and she tensed with fear and regret until she saw her mother with her needles in hand. A protective wall crackled around them and the flames dispersed into nothingness.

Dirk and Jake both readied their swords and stood shoulder to shoulder in anticipation of a second attack, but it never came. The dragon drew its head back and put it down on the floor of the cave. A woman with a cane in hand felt her way along its smooth neck and rested a hand upon its head.

“That naughty Pyralspite of mine gave you a fright, did he?” she asked and cackled.


	18. ERIDAN

The day of the betrothal came and passed. It was meant to be a grand day, nothing compared to what their wedding would be like, but grand nevertheless. To Eridan it had been one long stupor of which he remembered nothing. After telling Equius what had happened to his servant he could think of little else. He would sooner not have told Equius, but he knew it was inevitable. Now his blue knight would not eat, sleep or speak. He mourned as one would a beloved sister and it broke Eridan’s heart to watch. While as he tried to keep his distance and give Equius room for his grief, he would occasionally try and coax him into speaking, or in the very least eating.

“I understand you are not concerned with your own well being for the moment.” He tried to be delicate in his wording and not upset his blue knight further. “But as I said, I believe you are in more danger than ever. Ser Makara must have slipped.” He was convinced Serket was behind this, but he would not have Equius run after her with a vengeance and have their cover blown entirely, not yet. “We must try and get you on a ship out of here.”

Eridan could only see Equius’ back. He was turned away from him, staring out the window at nothing. He made no response and he did not seem to care in the least what happened next. Eridan continued. “There is a ship leaving in a few days. If we could smuggle you out of the castle, you could find yourself a free man in the western lands within the end of the next month.”

Equius made the first sound he had made for days. It was an enraged cry as he took hold of a chair and smashed it into pieces against the wall. He groaned in frustration and sank down on the bed with his hands covering his face. “If I had done even one thing differently she could have been alive still.”

“Mourning her is one thing. Regretting past actions has no merit,” Eridan told him. He sat down next to his blue knight with care and put a comforting hand on the small of his back. “She would want you to live. She did not die so that you might let yourself perish now.”

“I am not leaving by myself. Someone will undoubtedly soon see a profit in turning you in. Ours is not a well kept secret. Who would you have on your side if you sent me away? Where would you be then? Would I lose the only person left in the world who is willing to aid me?”

“Is this gratitude I am hearing?” Eridan asked in mild amusement and surprise. “Nevertheless, we cannot continue like this indefinitely.”

“You are very correct. We cannot continue like this indefinitely. Must I wait much longer for you to find your courage? Because now is when I need your comfort.”

Eridan needed only look at him to understand what it was he meant. Equius was no fool; he saw right through him. Now the former knight’s expression was one of sorrow and tears. At the moment this indefinable thing between them was all they had. It seemed wrong to let grief draw them together, but at what other time was love needed the most?

Eridan slid his arms around Equius’ waist. He tipped his chin upwards and closed his eyes as they kissed. At first it was chaste, tasting of tears and bitterness, but as he grew bolder he became fierce and passionate. Equius let him. His strong arms were around Eridan, holding him close in encouragement, but that was all. He was the one in need of comfort, whose grief was consuming him from the inside. Eridan knew this and would do anything to ease his pain. He pressed him against the bed with another few reassuring kisses.

“I am to be married soon.”

“That is none of my concern,” Equius replied in hushed words. “I am yours to do with as you like.”

Eridan stroked a finger down Equius’ chin. “Mine,” he contemplated. “My blue knight.” His words made Equius shudder. Perhaps he had been wrong about Equius. “Have you enjoyed being kept by me all this time?”

Equius said nothing. Eridan could have sworn he took pleasure in being held down and criticized. Eridan pulled his shirt off, then his breeches. Equius hardened further under Eridan’s gaze and his muscular body shone with perspiration. Eridan wanted to taste and feel, but more than that he wished to please. If Equius took pleasure from his orders and his domination, Eridan was simply too happy to oblige. “Turn around,” he murmured. At last he had one who would do his bidding.

Equius watched him over his shoulder, still with wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. It was a wordless plea that Eridan should take his sorrow away for some time. Eridan reduced him to nothing with sweet caresses and touches down his back. The former knight made no sound the entire night than quiet groans and whimpers as Eridan took him. It was hard to say if he was consumed by lust or sadness.

Eridan felt strange afterwards, until Equius took him in his arms and simply held him in silent gratitude.


	19. KARKAT

“In only a few hours you will be free of these cells. The Condesce thinks it would be a shame not to let your executions be a public spectacle,” Ser Serket said and laughed. She had come down to the dungeons only to taunt and threaten them. In all honesty they were too tired to care. Karkat was famished and his friends had only gotten minimal treatment in order to keep them alive. He was losing hope and Ser Serket was not making a difference one way or another.

“She has named no man as the Queen’s Justice, so I am hoping she will let me be the one to behead you,” she continued. “I have a blunted sword for this very occasion.”

“We will die with honour no matter what torture we must endure,” Karkat said, only because he was growing weary of her voice. The tactic of not responding had not worked. “I have no fear of death, only revulsion that I should be ended by a cunt such as you.”

“Honour?” Ser Serket spat out another venomous laugh. She dug her nails into Karkat’s face and grinned down at him. “You will look oh so honourable with your head on a spike. I am sure you have seen how we lather the heads with tar to make them last longer, but still it will only take days before the crows have hacked out your eyes and cheeks.”

“To be honest I think it would suit you better. Rot and bile would only be an improvement to your face,” Karkat told her. Just afterwards, an iron poker slammed down over Ser Serket’s head. She was unconscious before she hit the floor. Her assailant was the Princess, who clutched the poker with a wild, frightened look on her face.

“I am here to release you,” she said and tossed the poker aside. Ser Makara stood behind her with a complacent look on him.

“What is he doing here?” Sollux asked while the Princess unlocked his manacles.

“He helped me acquire the keys. Please, I... I believe we can trust him.”

“There is no room for doubt,” Karkat said, but he nodded gratefully to her as he, too, was released. He strode over to Ser Serket and retrieved her sword. He could barely lift it in his weakened state. “Must we fight our way out?”

“I hope to avoid it.” The Princess had gotten into Tavros’ cell and was freeing him from his chains.

“Leave me,” Tavros said to Karkat. “I, I would be a hindrance. There is no way... Not with my legs.” Even now he looked pained. Karkat would not have him left behind. That would be a betrayal of his ideals, but what were they to do?

“Come here, my broken little friend.” Ser Makara pushed the Princess aside and picked Tavros up in his arms. Tavros grew flustered immediately and tried to make himself as small as possible.

“Karkat...”

“He seems passive enough. Let us leave.” Karkat had no time to doubt his old friend. He looked to the Princess and Sollux. They were making eyes at each other and she reached for his hand. “I said, let us _leave_ , you morons! You may commit all the debauched, hedonistic perversions that turns my stomach inside out only to consider once we are not about to be beheaded.”

The Princess cleared her throat and tried to maintain some dignity. “Yes. Absolutely. This way.” She led them out of the dungeon and to a hidden way through the undercroft that would lead them out to the city. “We will hide you in a warehouse by the docks until we can find a ship to safely take you away. The Condesce has called her bannermen and the city will be crawling with strangers. It will be easier to hide at the port than dare the countryside by foot or horse.”

“Are you coming along with us?” Sollux asked.

“How could I?” she asked. “My mother...”

“Did anyone care to see if Ser Serket was actually dead?” Karkat broke in. It looked to not be the case. He supposed there was no time to go back. While they snuck through the city he kept a close eye on Ser Makara. Tavros looked to have grown comfortable in his arms, though Karkat would keep watching. He wanted nothing but to have his old friend back, yet he knew better than to expect fortune to be with them. It was perhaps a greater problem still that the Princess and Sollux would not stop whispering between them.

“Serket said you will be marrying in a matter of days,” Sollux said, seeking confirmation.

“As soon as Dualscar arrives. I apologize, Sollux. There is nothing I can do.” Karkat could tell she honestly regretted. “I would go with you tonight, but the Condesce would have the entire Queensguard look for us if she thought you had taken me with you. You would have no chance of escaping.”

“Suffer through the wedding,” Karkat said. “Until we find a ship to take us away, play your part and please the Condesce in whatever way is necessary to keep us hidden, even if it means letting that foul princeling put his cock in you a few times. You will join us once we are about to leave. This is not an intricate matter requiring deep and thoughtful study.”

“I would rather be dead than spend one night with the Prince,” she said with disgust.

“It is a revolting prospect, but would you rather be dead than escape with us?” Sollux asked. It was clear that by “us” he meant “me”. His words melted her proud heart.

“I would suffer though,” she whispered. Before she left them she placed a chaste kiss upon Sollux’ cheek. Karkat let them say their farewells at the door to the warehouse while he looked around. The building was not in use. It had nooks and crannies where they would be able to hide when the Queensgard came looking for them.

“You look... troubled,” Tavros remarked. He had come to wrap his arms around the neck of Ser Makara, who was watching the parting of Sollux and the Princess with strange interest.

“That is because I _am_ bloody troubled,” Karkat told him. “That we should leave this city to the mercy of the Condesce is against everything I stand for.” He ran his hand over the hilt of Ser Serket’s sword. It was good to have steel between his fingers again. Now that he could think clearly, he regretted that he had not cut her head off while she was lying unconscious. It would have been dishonourable of him, but he would bear that dishonour if it meant removing some of the evil that existed. With Tavros in mind he took an old pelt and some blankets to make a bed. “Set him down, Gamzee. You will have to return to the keep as well.”

Tavros was making such an effort not to cry out. He had not made a sound while they stole through the city, but he could do nothing but whimper as he was set down. Karkat did not know what to do with him. Perhaps he could find a foreign healer on the docks, one who would not know their faces or crimes. It would still be a risk.

“You must sleep, little broken page.”

“I will try,” Tavros said bravely.

“No. You _must_.” Ser Makara gave him one of his vials. His detached yet blissful smile had not changed since the dungeon.

“But you, you need this.”

“I have more,” Ser Makara said and snickered, as if there had been some clever trick to it. It looked to ease Tavros’ mind nevertheless. “Do I also receive a kiss before I go?” He was looking at Tavros, who turned to Karkat with big, uncertain eyes. Karkat shrugged. Ser Makara waited.

“I, I don’t...” There was no way of knowing if Ser Makara was even aware of what he had requested. He did not appear lucid in the least. Karkat would have intervened, but now he was curious to see what Tavros would do. Some affection might do Ser Makara good.

Ser Makara simply continued to wait until Tavros was thoroughly disturbed by his vacant look. He pressed his lips swiftly to Ser Makara’s cheek and turned away in haste. His ears and cheeks burned bright red as Ser Makara snickered. “You two stay safe,” he said before he left them. Tavros let out a nervous laugh once they were on their own.

“He is clearly not himself.”

“You remember what he was like,” Karkat said. “I believe he is in the process of becoming himself again, something he has not been for a long time.” It was a relief to Karkat. Seeing that Gamzee remembered his affection for Tavros made him think there was hope. “Drink your medicine and sleep.”

Sollux was quietly pulling together blankets and cloths for him and Karkat to sleep on. Not a word escaped him. It would be a long and sombre night, but they were free again. Karkat felt like a craven, but the important thing now was to stay alive. Some day he would return and liberate his city.


	20. VRISKA

Failure was bitter medicine to swallow for Vriska. She was enraged to have woken up with the prisoners and her sword gone. To add insult to injury, she was forced to be the one to report the escape. The humiliation of standing in front of the Condesce and telling how she was inexplicably overmanned by three prisoners in chains grated on her for days. She had thrown herself into fits and thrashed several of the castle’s rooms. When that did not help, she bullied the lowbloods. She had cut off a man’s tongue after he yelled at her to stop terrorising his son. She had executed every single criminal apprehended up until now. Nothing would calm her boiling blood. She had to treat the problem at its core.

She left the keep and walked along the top of the curtain wall until she reached the easternmost bastion. Soldiers were practicing down in the courtyard and the sound of metal on metal sang. Everyone was readying themselves for war. Surely they imagined this would end in one glorious battle against the western forces but they had no idea of the war already taking place within the castle walls. She scoffed at these common soldiers whose only use was fuel for a funeral pyre.

When she found the right bastion, she sent the guards away. It was not the east they needed to fear. “They told me I would be able to find you here. The guards complain that you are moaning out here every other day,” she said as she walked up next to the Prince. He was leaning on the parapet with a wistful look in his eyes, staring out over the eastern seas.

“I had hoped I would not see you for some time after your recent blunder.”

She could have wrung his neck then and there. “This just so happens to be about my... blunder.” She ground her teeth in dismay. Breathing in deep she made a conscious effort to calm herself. “When I explained what happened to the Condesce I left out some vital details that I will entrust you with.”

“Not interested, though I _hope_ these details are that every prisoner raped you in turn before escaping. I would still not be interested in hearing about it.”

“My, my! Such venom,” Vriska murmured. Eridan had no known reason to dislike her. She could only presume he suspected her of having something to do with the cat girl’s death. “You wish. This greatly concerns you, Ampora.” He did not deserve any courtesies. “The one who allowed the prisoners to escape is doubtlessly your future wife.”

The Prince shrugged and continued his morose staring. “What of it? Should you hope to discredit her and take her place, again, I am not interested.”

“I wish to do much more than discredit her. _You_ will do more than discredit her. I lack enough proof to convince the Condesce that her daughter is a traitor, but you will understand.”

“I will do nothing. Your wild speculations are a desperate attempt at restoring what little honour you had.”

Vriska smiled sweetly. “My speculations are not wild in the least. The Princess holds one of the revolutionaries dear. Sollux Captor was close to her before the separation of the casts. Did you not see her face when the Condesce ordered them executed?”

“Is that so?” Vriska saw the rage that flared on his face and she was simply delighted with her ability to manipulate the weak. “How would you even know this?” he demanded. “Princess Feferi is an honourable woman who holds her virtue high.”

“I would not know about that,” Vriska said. She leaned nonchalantly on the parapet and examined her nails. “She seems to be completely overcome by love for him. I would not be surprised if they fucked in that filthy dungeon with the other prisoners watching.” For a time she had feared the Prince would not be concerned by this, but his clenched fists told her otherwise.

“She would never!” he yelled at her. “Where did you hear this?”

“What do you have to be angry for?” Vriska asked. “I find it amusing that you should ask. It was in fact Ser Makara.” This served to dampen the Prince’s spirits.

“Ser Makara...”

Vriska drew closer to him. “He told me other things, too,” she purred. “I have watched you come and go. You call upon your little captive every night.”

“It is not what you think!”

“You are blushing.”

“Up until recently.” The Prince sighed in dismay, but he immediately flared back up again. “I was right, then. Lady Nepeta’s death was your fault. If I told Equius... Ser Zahhak,” he corrected himself. “He would kill you whether it cost him his life.”

“You are too precious,” Vriska laughed. The Prince was in pieces. “Do you think the Condesce would be pleased to hear about your love for traitors’ cock in you? Because, while she would not heed accusations towards her daughter, she would most definitely enjoy any excuse to punish you.”

“With my father on his way? I doubt it.”

“How hard do you think it would be for her to blame your death on the revolutionaries? I would gladly help her cover up your unfortunate demise.”

Prince Eridan looked defeated. It had only been a matter of time. “What must I do, then?”

“At first I held my tongue because I would like to see the Princess suffer her bridal night with you. That is still the case. Deal with her any time after your wedding.”

“How does that work in my favour?” he asked. “If I am caught harming the Princess, I would be executed either way.” He shook his head. “Your leverage is nothing if I suffer the same fate one way or another.”

Vriska made an impatient noise. “Obviously I will provide an escape plan or an excuse. We can always blame Makara. These days he has problem telling his hand from his foot, let alone discern who he has killed.”

“I still care for her,” the Prince murmured. “Let us speak closer to the wedding. I need time to think. If you utter even a word about what I am doing, I will make sure Ser Zahhak has the chance to crush your ugly head with his bare hands.”

“Fine. Do not keep me waiting for long. What are you even out here for? Moping because you will never satisfy a woman?”

The Prince turned back to look at the horizon. Something was appearing in the distance. “That,” he said. The thick fog parted before the bow of a magnificent flagship. Out from the mist emerged the rest of the fleet at its tail. Dualscar had arrived.


	21. DIETRICH

Dirk and his party had gotten a good look at the tunnels. There were dragons of all ages and sizes there, but Pyralspite was the greatest. His keeper told them of how she had come to this island when he was but a hatchling and they had grown close.

“I was on a ship from the eastern kingdom in hopes of escaping the Condesce. I had no wish to take part in her war or her world. My house is of lower nobility and I would have been expected to aid her cause. On our way we were attacked by pirates. The feared Marquise showed us no mercy and my family was killed. I alone made it safely to shore. Pyralspite guided me here and he has guarded me since.”

She stroked her dragon’s snout fondly as she spoke. They listened to her story, impressed by the strength of this blind young woman. After some talk she finally introduced herself as Lady Terezi Pyrope, but Terezi would do. There were no titles or houses among dragons. Dirk informed her of their cause, of how she and Pyralspite were what they needed in order to overthrow the Condesce and liberate her homeland.

“Liberate? _Hah_! You say that, but as the Condesce you are another stranger come to take power,” Terezi accused. The idea of liberation seemed to amuse her. “Who are you to sit on that throne?”

“I do not plan on taking the throne for myself. There is an infamous revolutionary leader, should the Condesce’s daughter, the true heir, prove to be unsuitable. We will find a fitting candidate, one who will listen to the people.”

“And you will decide who sits on the throne. How does that make you different?”

Dirk was getting the impression that she was only trying to be difficult. “Come with us and have a say in the matter.”

She joined them in the end. Pyralspite would swim after the ship, she assured them this was no problem. She got up on deck with some degree of curiosity, letting her cane tap everything to give her an idea of what it looked like.

“It is no different from the last ship I was on,” she decided. Dirk thought she was hitting people with her cane more often than what was necessary. Roxy made it her task to look after her. To Dirk she had always seemed more good natured than her mother. The whole crew was, on the whole, rather chilly and watchful towards the blind girl. Her dragon had not failed to maul one of their crew before it joined their ranks and trust was doubtful at best.

Megido was under a fever. She would not stop bleeding from the wounds inflicted upon her by Pyralspite. Terezi had explained how Pyralspite was only defending the nest and Dirk had decided he must let it pass. Pyralspite did not appear volatile, and he obeyed Terezi without question. Terezi had personally looked at Megido’s wounds, but she was no healer.

“I can only assume it is an infection,” Terezi said. “Pyralspite’s fangs are not poisonous, but he will eat anything in any state of decay, leaving his spit putrid and infectuous. If a bite is not enough to kill his pray, then it usually dies shortly of disease.”

They had one healer on the ship, but he could do little but rinse and stitch her wounds and give her milk of the poppy. Dirk had expected losses but he had not thought he would have to watch their guide die a slow death. Three days after their departure from the island, Megido requested that her suffering be ended. Dirk took it upon himself. They buried her at sea before they put their minds on catching up with the fleet.

Dirk could see Pyralspite swim around the ship like a massive snake, or a mythic whale shark. It hunted creatures of the sea and shared its prey with Terezi, pushing dead things onto deck as grotesque offerings. She praised him indiscriminately and endorsed the habit, encouraging the crew to indulge with her so long as any meat was thoroughly cooked beforehand.

“Are you angry at Pyralspite?” Jake asked him, but Dirk shook his head.

“It was unfortunate, but it is the nature of these creatures. The rest of our men will be safe with Terezi to control him. Pyralspite is an absolutely essential ally if we are to defeat the Condesce. Try not to worry.”

“I am more worried for Prince Dietrich than us,” Jake admitted.

“Dirk.”

“I know,” Jake assured. “I... I simply have no wish to seem disrespectful, because I am not. I can’t help but think that it is partly my fault Pyralspite attacked. Not only did it end in Megido’s death, it put you and our Lady Lalondes in danger. It was not knightly. What would he think of me?”

Dirk let out a heavy sigh. “Jake. Please. Give it a rest and enjoy the beautiful view of...” He gestured towards the ocean uncertainly.

“It looks as if Pyralspite is mauling a huge octopus.”

They watched for a while and wondered what would await them on the eastern shores. They had lost hope of catching up to the fleet before they reached land, but they would not allow themselves to miss out on the battle.


	22. FEFERI

Dualscar’s arrival increased safety in the city, but it did nothing to improve conditions within the castle. Like his son, Dualscar was a conceited and fickle man. It was he who had offered Prince Eridan to the Condesce, and she had agreed to the marriage arrangement because of House Ampora’s lands and the weight their name carried. The highbloods would approve of their union and thus strengthen their cause, she had told Feferi. Once Feferi had asked why the Condesce had not married Dualscar for these very reasons. The Condesce had without hesitation told her that she found Dualscar to be detestable and that she would never allow that revolting man to lay hands on her.

Feferi sighed to herself. If Dualscar was detestable, she wondered what word to use about the Prince. Dualscar was a sea captain, supposedly a corsair but with no more morals than a pirate. He commanded the largest fleet to sail the eastern seas and he raided and killed without mercy. The Prince, on the other hand, grew seasick if he so much as looked at a boat and he complained loudly through every meal since Dualscar’s arrival, because they would serve seafood in hopes of pleasing the great captain. Dualscar seemed as eager to be rid of his son as anyone else at the table.

The wedding was a hastily put together affair. In the hopeful case that the Prince died during the invasion, Feferi would still have a claim to his riches and fame if they had been married. So be it, she thought. She had Sollux waiting for her, if she was only able to suffer through.

During the ceremony she was able to bask in the admiration of the lords and ladies who looked upon them. Even the Prince and his father seemed impressed and satisfied with her appearance. The skirt of her gown was layers and layers of thinly woven, white satin. The bodice was set with a number of small, sky blue stones in the shape of water droplets. Her long, fluttering sleeves were a pale lilac to match the trimming of her bodice. Her veil was held in place by a coronet of silver, engraved with the sigils of both House Peixes and Ampora. For a little while she could feel like a true queen.

She chattered away the feast with those who wished to congratulate her and the dance afterwards went relatively well. Prince Eridan was graceful when he danced, if not at any other time.

Prince Eridan made no move as to pull her away from the festivities immediately. He indulged in the talk and the music, more eager to bask in public admiration than proceed with the night. In time the Condesce remarked that they might wish to retire. This subtle hint was a poorly masked order. Feferi let the Prince take her hand and lead her away from the festivities.

A bridal suite was made ready for them.  The fireplace was lit and she found it to be all too hot. Feferi went to open the balcony door while the Prince poured two cups of the wine that was set out by the bed. In this light he did not seem too terrible to her. A half cloak of cloth-of-gold was wrapped around his neck and shoulders. His doublet was of black and gold silk, decorated with dark amethysts. He watched the fireplace as he sipped his wine, looking pensive and noble in the warm light. She wished she could remember him as he was before they left their homeland, before she grew tired of his antics.

Her hands were shaking. She did not fear him, but she had never opened herself to any man. If she could not imagine the Prince as he was when they were young, she would think of Sollux. How she wished she could have given her love to him first, but the Prince would know. It was not a matter that was up for debate. She only wanted to have this done and over with before the suspense killed her.

“I expected you to be more forward,” she said. The Prince offered her a cup of wine and she accepted. It would make her part in this farce easier.

“To be honest I have not dared to think this far ahead. It seems strange to me, now. You and I were children together.”

“We were.” Feferi was not sure as to what he was playing at. She had always thought the Prince’s mind to be filled with lecherous thoughts of her. Perhaps she had been vain to assume. “What does it matter now? Neither of us had any choice in this; neither is at fault. What would we even do?”

“We could do nothing,” the Prince said. “I have been contemplating this since my father arrived. There has been a lot of animosity between us since we came here. I have been confused as to my feelings toward you, as well as yours to me.”

“I do care for you,” she said uncertainly. She stood next to him at the foot of the bed, where he was leaning against the footboard. He did not look at her, seeming in deep thought. She followed his gaze towards the smouldering embers in the hearth. “I will admit, since you were so courteous as to say it first, I have had my doubts as well. It has perhaps given you a bad impression as to my feelings toward you.” She could not stand the thought of him as a husband. Their imminent marriage had frustrated her and driven her away from him, destroying any possibility of a friendship. She could accept him as a friend, but not as her soul mate.

“You care and that is fine. I love you, Feferi. I always will.”

“Oh.”

“But I know you love someone else.”

“Who would that even be?” she asked nervously.

“ _Don’t_ lie to me,” the Prince said. His mouth drew into a sneer. “You have fallen for one of the lowbloods. I do not understand how you could do such a thing, but I know it to be true.” He took hold of her wrist. She struggled, but he pulled her closer to him. For a moment he looked half mad with jealousy. “Knowing you would give yourself to lowblood scum and not to me makes my blood boil with rage.”

For the first time she felt a pang of fear. How great a fool she was not to bring a knife with her to her wedding night. “I have not given myself to him,” she spat. “I am untouched still, though my heart belongs to him. Does knowing that satisfy you?”

The Prince breathed in deep to calm himself. “No. I, too, love someone else. Forgive me, for I was not as virtuous.” He let go of her. She stepped away with haste, wanting more room between them.

“I should be disgusted, but I am glad,” she said in a shuddering voice. “If you could abandon your love for me and pursue another woman, we could both love and be happy despite our misfortunate marriage.”

“Come sit with me,” the Prince said. She hesitated, but decided to join him on the edge of the bed. She smoothed out her skirts and looked at him with hopeful eyes. They could work something out, if he would only be reasonable. “You understand then,” he continued. “How it is to love someone so strongly you would risk everything for them.”

“I do,” she replied with a heavy heart. “And I have.”

“You aided Sollux Captor’s escape as well as the other revolutionaries, because you love him.”

She nodded. There was no sense in hiding it. “He is safe, for the time being. Would you do anything to harm him?”

Eridan shook his head. “On the contrary I would aid you, should you do the same for me. My love is in a far more dangerous position.”

“Who is it?” she asked. “What dangers could I possibly help you evade?” She could see a chance for them both to be happy, if only they could cooperate for once, but the Prince was reluctant to speak of his lover.

“She... No, I will not lie to you. From the moment I saw Ser Equius Zahhak on the battlefield I was enthralled by him. He spared my life and I rescued his. Now I have rescued him once more by hiding him away, and he has repaid me by finally reciprocating my feelings.”

“I see.” She did not know what to tell him. She should have been angry and disgusted that her husband would commit acts of depravity with another man. She did not find it half as disgusting as the rest of the Prince’s mannerisms. “Is it true that he aided the revolutionaries, then?”

The Prince nodded. “If he is discovered he will be killed. I must find a way for him to escape, a place to stay safe. It is only a matter of time before Ser Serket reveals his location. I am not even sure if he cares. After the loss of Lady Nepeta he has been in pieces.”

It looked to have taken its toll on the Prince. “Eridan...” She put her hand on his shoulder in comfort. She did not know what she would do, had Sollux given up on life.

“How were you able to hide the revolutionaries?” he asked. “I have considered sneaking him out in a carriage or by ship, but I know of no way from his tower and through the city without being discovered.”

“You may not have to go all the way. I, too, considered the countryside but it is a far too great risk. There are places to hide at the docks. Foreigners are pouring in every day now, to aid the Condesce in the war. Some of the older warehouses are unguarded, because the men are needed elsewhere.”

“I should have thought of that,” Eridan murmured. “They can lie indefinitely in wait for a safe ship to get on.”

“Where do you have him hidden?” Feferi asked. “Together we could create a diversion and find Ser Zahhak a safe way down to the docks.”

“We could. But we would not be able to arrange it in time.”

“We could try,” Feferi insisted. It occurred to her that she may have informed him of too much. She should not trust Eridan, not yet. He had a lover, but that did not stop him from being bitter about losing her. He was too greedy, too selfish.

“You understand I was at an impasse and that we do anything for the people we love.” He reached a hand under the pillow. Feferi’s muscles tensed, ready to up and run if she had to. “When a decision had to be made, I simply did not love you the most. Not anymore, I am sorry.”

She saw the dagger coming. She grabbed Eridan’s arm to stop him, fighting to press the dagger away. It cut into the fabric of her bodice and all the while she was staring him in the eyes as the blade sank into her. She thought of Sollux and prayed he would escape.


	23. ERIDAN

Eridan was decked in blood as he entered the western tower. He felt numb. The dagger was still clutched in his fist and his knuckles were whitening around the handle. “Equius.”

His blue knight looked at him in fear and ran to him immediately. “What happened? Are you injured?” he asked.

“I am unharmed,” Eridan assured. “But this will be our last time seeing one another for a very long time, perhaps at all. Now you must do as I say, to the letter.”

“What have you done?” Equius insisted.

“I have murdered my bride on my wedding night so that we may be safe. Take me now,” he ordered. “Remind me that I am still loved; make me feel as if it was worth it.” _Please Gods, let me feel something at all_. Never had the world seemed so hollow to him until he felt Equius’ hands draw him close. The dagger was plucked out of his hand.

“You have killed the Princess? What can this even hope to accomplish?”

“If fortune is on our side it gave us a diversion with which you can escape. When I am done with you I will go downstairs and tell them what happened. That is when you will make your escape. Not to the docks, go north and continue to the first great city. I will find you there if I am able to.” He grasped two handfuls of Equius’ hair and snarled. “Do this for me.”

Equius kissed him in reply. It was hard and furious. Eridan would gladly succumb to him this time, let himself be filled with the love he needed so sorely. In Equius’ arms it was alright to be fragile and small. His clothes were torn off, and he truly felt his lover’s strength as he was forced down and taken with longing and desperation for a life where this was everything.

When they were done, Eridan slid out of bed. He pulled his shredded clothing back on and took the dagger. It was best if he did this himself. He would not burden Equius with this task. It was better he did not watch at all. “Head north,” he said. “I will find you.” He returned to the bed and kissed him goodbye. “Be swift.”

“I will be,” Equius promised him.

Eridan left. He would lower himself to one more disgusting action before he was finished. Downstairs the feast was still going on. After making the necessary preparations he went out to meet them.

He stumbled out on the floor and buckled to his knees with harsh gasps. The lords and ladies and anyone else still attending the feast gathered around him in horror and curiosity. Blood dripped from several cuts up his hands and chest, his doublet was ripped and he had wrapped one arm in his cloak. “Feferi,” he said. “The Princess is dead.”

The shocked crowd parted to allow the Condesce through. At her side were Dualscar and behind were Ser Serket and Ser Makara. She demanded that he explain himself.

“She had been unfaithful.” Eridan looked up at her with big eyes filled with guilt and horror. “When I demanded an explanation, she attacked. She had hidden a blade in her gown. Thinking she had me overpowered, she bragged about how her lover was one of the revolutionaries and how she had helped him escape. In my fury and sorrow our struggle came out of control and she fell over the balcony.”

The Condesce said nothing. She sent a guard to see the room and another two to look for the body. As for what she would do with the Prince, she had not decided. Eridan’s father said nothing in his defence. Eridan looked to Ser Serket, who had promised to help reinforce his story.

“He is obviously lying, Your Grace. He murdered her in cold blood so he alone may have the throne,” Ser Serket announced triumphantly. “You have no proof to say otherwise.”

“She told me where the revolutionaries are hiding,” Eridan panted. “To gloat, she told me of her clever plan to smuggle them out of the city and get them on a ship. They are in a warehouse at the docks. Go see for yourselves!”

The Condesce nodded to Ser Makara. She gave him a handful of men and sent him away, but still she was not convinced of the Prince’s innocence.

“Your Highness,” Ser Serket told her sweetly. “He may easily be the traitor himself. Why, rumours will have it that he is hiding Ser Zahhak, who assisted in the uprising, under our very noses. That he knows of the escaped prisoners’ whereabouts would only confirm this! He needed only cut himself a little and act the victim; do not fall for this charade.”

Eridan let his cloak drop. Blood poured freely down his arm from his shoulder, where the knife was lodged in his flesh to the hilt. “I speak truly, your Highness,” he said breathlessly. Finally Dualscar spoke up, demanding they take his son to the Grand Maester.

Ser Serket was about to protest further, but the Condesce silenced her. She would not have further arguing; her daughter had been killed on the day of her wedding for reasons that they would dispute later. They could throw about lies and slander once they in the very least had recovered the Princess’ body. She ordered that the Prince would be taken to the Grand Maester, then arrested. It was not as bad as Eridan had foreseen. His guilt and sorrow was genuine, but he had done what must be done.


	24. TAVROS

It was late in the night when Tavros woke to the muffled chatter of his companions. Karkat and Sollux were speaking in hushed voices, keeping careful watch by the door. He pushed himself up on his elbows and yawned. “What is going on?”

Karkat crossed the floor in quick, silent steps to be at Tavros’ side. “Did we wake you?” he whispered with shifty looks toward the windows. There were loud noises from the docks. Affronted shouts mingled with the rustling of armour and weapons.

“I had a dream,” Tavros said with sleep still lingering on his voice. “There was a massive beast laying waste to the world with fire, but it spoke gently to me and soothed me.” He stifled a yawn. “What is going on?” He could tell Karkat was filled with concern but was reluctant to explain the situation. “Are we in danger?”

Sollux joined them where they crouched behind some crates. “They are getting closer. Tavros, guards are searching the warehouses. There is no fleeing through the front door.”

Tavros’ heart sank as he realized the problem. Their only other escape route was through one of the windows. They were high up and difficult to access. It was not possible for him to get up there, even with the help of two. For the second time he told them; “Leave me behind.”

“Tavros, they would take you back to the dungeons only to be executed come morning in front of the entire city,” Karkat hissed. Somehow he was able to spit and rage even while whispering.

“You, you two will not die because of me.” Tavros had made up his mind. Nothing in the world would budge him from his decision; he would see both his friends to safety and face his death free of guilt.

“Sollux, go,” Karkat said. “At least one of us should be able to escape.”

“Oh.”

“What about you?” Sollux asked. Tavros could tell the idea did not sit well with him but that escape was a very tempting option.

Karkat rose up and drew Ser Serket’s sword. “So long as I am armed and free I will not stop until I have cut the head of every damnable shit-headed servant of the Condesce standing in my way.” They had barred the door, but it wouldn’t hold for long. Guards were already attempting to break it down, throwing themselves against the brittle old wood in turn. “Sollux, go! You will only get in my way.”

That was a point Tavros was unable to argue; Karkat was in no need of further hindrances. “I am sorry, Sollux. Take, take care of yourself.”

“Fight bravely,” Sollux told Karkat before he climbed the back wall. Karkat helped him up and saw him safely out, just in time to brandish his sword as the door was broken down. Five knights of the Queensguard flooded the room, and with them was Ser Makara.

“It’s them!” one of the men felt the need to point out. “Lay down your sword, Vantas. You may yet live for a day or two.”

“He, he speaks reasonably,” Tavros muttered, but Karkat would not hear any of it. Tavros had seen him fight before, but his favoured weapon was an exotic curved blade from the west. It had been taken from him and lost, but he wielded a longsword with just as much expertise. The knights circled him, biding their time while he measured them with watchful eyes.

Tavros was near startled by how quickly he span into action, moving with little grace but impeccable tactic and speed. Karkat shifted so that no more than one could possibly attack him at a time, ducking behind crates and parrying every blow. The knights were in their full plate, black with cloaks of House Peixes’ colour.  Karkat was precise, and in an upwards thrust he drove his sword up under the first knight’s helmet and skewered his head so blood gushed down his breast. The second knight’s sword nipped at his leather jerkin, not tearing into it but getting too close for comfort.

Ser Makara was only watching. His complacent smile did not change, not even as his face was sprayed with the blood of his fellow knights.

Tavros had done his best to hide but, while the second and third knights were fighting Karkat, the fourth had begun searching the warehouse. They knew they were looking for three revolutionaries, and while Karkat had the anger and ferocity to sustain an entire platoon he did not have the stature to count as more than one enraged little man. Tavros clenched his jaw together against the pain and began to crawl. There was no sense in trying to escape, but he made his insufferable way to the first corpse Karkat had made. He unsheathed the fallen man’s knife and twisted around to face his pursuer.

“Hah!” the knight cried out. “The cripple wishes to fight, does he? Don’t be foolish. The Condesce may yet have mercy on a child.”

He came too close and Tavros lashed at him like a viper. Tears were streaming down his face from the pain of movement but his expression was one of determination. The knife caught between the greave and the soleret, and bit into one of the knight’s ankles. He cried out a number of foul curses before he raised his sword in both hands. _This is it_ , Tavros thought. _He will cleave me in half with one swing_. He would rest assured that he had gone down fighting to the best of his abilities. He may not have mortally wounded his enemy but the cut would undoubtedly be a nuisance for months.

As it turned out, Tavros was in the wrong. The wounded ankle was soon forgotten as Ser Makara’s sword lodged into the knight’s stomach, stabbing him right underneath his breastplate. Still grinning, Ser Makara forced his sword with both hands. The knight spluttered and gasped his dying breaths as he was slowly carved open and his intestines spilled out.

The two remaining knights were still engaged with Karkat and did not see it coming. Ser Makara came from the side, plunging his sword in under one man’s arm where his mail was at the weakest. His heart was pierced and he was awarded the swiftest death. The last man standing had no time to react. Ser Makara ripped his helmet off, took him by his hair and cut a deep gash across his eyes and nose. Blinded, he dropped his sword and stumbled back shrieking.

Karkat stood bloody and bruised, holding his sword loosely at his side. He was not prepared for Ser Makara to slice after him and he brought the sword up clumsily to parry. He saved his life but the sword span out of his hand and got stuck upright in the floor.

“Gamzee, stop!” he cried and barely dodged another swing. “Damn soft-headed idiot son of a bitch, do you not recognize me?”

Ser Makara had always seemed a bit touched, but now he responded to Karkat with nothing but a morbid laughter as he swung after him. His movements looked lazy and uncoordinated, yet Karkat was barely able to evade him. Somehow Ser Makara was always blocking his escape, as if playing some mad game with him. His blade snatched and nipped at Karkat, letting drops of blood from his arms and hands. Karkat would not last long and he looked to realize this. Tavros could not look away.

In a last, desperate effort Karkat ducked underneath Ser Makara’s sword and took hold of him. Tavros thought he had tried to grapple Ser Makara at first, but Karkat did not make another move. He held onto Ser Makara and made a soft shooshing noise. Tavros thought them both to be touched in the head until Ser Makara dropped his sword. The embrace pacified him. Tavros experienced an uncharacteristic moment of jealousy, but it passed as he remembered Ser Makara had protected him.

“Karkat, are you alright?” Tavros asked uncertainly.

“I will be fine.” Karkat’s breath was harsh and shallow, but he clung onto Ser Makara still. “Gamzee...?”

“Seven Hells. It would appear I cut you a little,” he said and snickered. “Everything alright, Karkat friend?”

“I said I was already,” Karkat snapped. “We must move and rejoin Sollux before he runs into the rest of the Queensguard. Lingering here would be a damned fool’s choice. Would you assist Tavros? You seem unharmed, physically.”

“Karkat,” Gamzee said. “Karkat, before we go...”

“What is it?” Karkat’s patience was wearing thin. He had let go of Gamzee, but Gamzee had not let go of him. He was stuck in a tight embrace with his face pressed into Gamzee’s breastplate.

“I require your advice. It’s about a boy.”

“That can wait!” Karkat yelled. He pried Gamzee off. “Perhaps for a time when said boy is not within hearing vicinity. Will you go and pick him up off the floor so we can move?”

“Should I pick him up? Is that what I should do?” Gamzee said uncertainly. Tavros’ ears were burning bright red and he tried to act as if he could not hear them. To busy himself he retrieved the sheath for the knife he had taken. It would not do to be unarmed and he clutched the weapon tight to his chest.

“Yes, now go do it!” Karkat’s shrieks would no doubt attract more unwanted attention. Gamzee did as he was told. He kneeled next to Tavros and scooped him into his arms.

“Hello friend,” he said, unnaturally giddy even for him.

“H-hello.” Tavros was not entirely certain as to what Gamzee wanted with his solicitations and he was personally in an emotional uproar from everything going on. Getting Gamzee to understand this was not a task he would dare undertaking. He put his arms around Gamzee’s neck and let himself be handled for now.

Karkat retrieved his sword and they ran out of the warehouse right as the bells began tolling from somewhere in the city. People were running in a panic down the streets and the guards were anything but concerned with them. The only ones with a definite agenda were the men preparing the ships of Dualscar’s fleet. They were in a hurry to leave port, and even more urgent was readying armour and weaponry. It could only mean that the Prince Regent of the west was approaching with his fleet.

“The city will be a battlefield,” Tavros said. “What, what do we do?”

Karkat looked towards the western horizon. The Prince Regent’s flagship was appearing over the edge of the world. “We do as we intended; we look for Sollux. Then we will meet the Prince Regent and aid him. Gamzee?”

“I am with you,” he said in a blessed moment of lucidity. Perhaps this was a turn of their luck.


	25. ERIDAN

At first, Eridan had presumed his imprisonment was a good sign. As much as he loathed experiencing the dungeons firsthand, he had not been beheaded on the spot. The Condesce might be considering the possibility of his innocence. Why else would she keep him alive?

There was not a torch or a lamp burning in the entire prison. He sat blinded by the dark in his cell, waiting. It felt like days passed, looming in the pitch-black nothingness. In reality it had only been an hour or two when the underground chambers were lit up by a torch. Eridan lifted his head from his arms and was surprised to see his father.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Dualscar made no attempts to assure Eridan he was there to see to his wellbeing. They had to discuss what would happen next. Not wasting any time, he told his son of his plan. Whether Eridan had killed the Princess or not they had been legally married. This meant Eridan was now next in line for the throne. The Condesce knew and Dualscar was doing all he could to keep her from killing him. It would not matter if she thought him a traitor; she would have him killed in order to protect her own position.

Eridan had nearly given up on a chance to have the throne. He would be glad to keep his life, but his father’s words were true. “What is your plan?” It was a relief to know that his father needed him alive.

Dualscar ordered him to wait. He had stalled a possible trial for as long as he could, now he would use the time he had bought to get some select men into the castle. They would lie in wait until the moment was right. His fleet would be meeting the royal fleet of the west and the Condesce would think him and all his men gone. She was not aware that several of her bannermen were in Dualscar’s pocket. She was surrounded and she did not know it yet.

Eridan had to applaud his father this once. By the looks of it he had done something clever; that was new. That his plan was insidious and traitorous was as expected. His father bid him goodbye and he was left on his own in the dark once more, contemplating.

Should he by some strange twist of fortune become king, he had so many plans. The Condesce and Feferi would both be dead; this was better than expected. The only one to boss him around would be his father, otherwise he would be free to do as he liked. He had seen the futility in separation of the lower and higher castes. If it was up to him, only the highest casts would remain.

Then he thought of Equius. Surely he would agree to the superiority of the higher castes, but he also had some strange affinity for the lowbloods. Eridan would give his blue knight no reason to turn traitor on him as well. No, he wanted Equius as commander of his Kingsguard, if not Hand of the King. He wondered if he could name him both. Of course he could! He would be King.

His rule would be an elaborate play for the gallery either way, as his father would run the land behind the scenes. Eridan could structure his councillors and guards just as he liked. Imagining his father ruling _his_ kingdom was infuriating, but he could make the best of it. His old man would eventually die, or become more predisposed to assassination as age dulled him.

The doors to the dungeon opened. Eridan could only make out silhouettes in the dark, but he recognized one particular voice.

“Put him in with the princeling,” Ser Serket ordered. It did not matter that there were a number of other empty cells, and that was only on this level of the dungeon. When the new prisoner had been shoved into Eridan’s cell, she dismissed the guards and lit an oil lamp. “Well, well,” she cooed as she pulled up a stool to sit herself down on. She watched them both with smug satisfaction. “I believe you two have met before.”

Eridan looked down at Sollux, who was bruised and bleeding from apparent torture. He could only presume the other revolutionaries were missing and Ser Serket had wanted to know their whereabouts. Sollux’ breeches were in rags, his back was naked but for the deep gashes of a whip. That he was alive must mean he had not given up on the information yet.

“Prince Eridan?” Sollux was broken and in pain, and his voice reflected as much. “Why...?” Sollux did not know why he should be a captive. Eridan squirmed in his seat.

“Serket, what is the meaning of this?”

“Oh, do call me Vriska. Down here we are all friends. And the meaning of this is to humiliate you both, but mainly Captor. He does not respond well to whips or hot irons, so my brilliant mind had an idea for a different approach.”

Eridan watched her with wary. Sollux was paying them no mind. He was more interested in curling up into a ball in the middle of the floor with his eyes closed to shut the world out. There were ugly burns on his hands that made Eridan’s skin crawl. “How does this involve me?”

“You are a prince. A royally spoiled shit,” Vriska said. “How would you respond to torture?”

Eridan felt the blood freeze in his veins. “That would hold no significance. He bears no love for me. I have nothing to do with this and I hope you realize my father will not approve.”

“Your father could not care less so long as you are alive enough to take the throne. Captor’s lack of love for you is exactly why you are right for this job.” Her lips curled with delight as she took a moment to simply bask in her own genius. “You will fuck him, like the lowbloods have been and should be fucked by the highbloods for all time.”

Sollux’ eyes shot open. “What...”

“That is ridiculous and _revolting_ ,” Eridan sneered. “As if you need a man to do that job for you.”

“You know very well why it has to be you in particular.”

“Seven Hells, you are a sick, twisted witch,” Sollux grunted.

“My first idea was to put you in the stocks and have every man in the city fuck you in turn, but the common masses are not ready for my genius,” she lamented. “Get to it, princeling.”

“While you are watching?” Eridan asked horrified.

“That is the dumbest question you have asked as of yet, quite an achievement. And make an effort to pleasure him; a little extra to rub salt in his wounds.”

Eridan saw absolutely nothing appetizing about this scene. He was in a filthy cage with a lowblood scum while the most conniving and detestable woman watched. He feared what Sollux would do to him when Vriska let the death of his lady love slip, because she would. She was waiting for the worst possible time. The only motivation Eridan found were the still bleeding whip marks across Sollux’ back and thighs.

“I suggest you get started. I have irons heating up in the fire just across the hall.” It was not metaphorical irons, Eridan knew. Sollux was not looking at him; he was set on acting as if this was not happening. Good for him, Eridan thought. Equius could never know of this. He scooted closer while fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt.

“I want this no more than you do.”

“Only do me this one favour and be silent, princeling.”

Eridan was displeased to have this miserable wretch insult him. He took Sollux by his waist and drew him close while ignoring his pained whimpers. Eridan got blood on his shirt, but it was already filthy and it did not matter. He had discarded the ruined doublet long ago. As to how he should go about this, he was not sure. He felt guilty on Sollux’ behalf but he did not particularly like him.

Eridan could in the very least appreciate his lean body in the lamplight. His skin was flushed from abuse and his breath drawn rapidly. He was no doubt worked up, all Eridan had to do was touch him in the right manner and turn the pain that made his blood boil into pleasure.

He had pulled Sollux up on his knees and sat behind him. Their bodies were pressed together and Eridan felt the convulsive tensing and relaxation of stressed muscles. He slid a hand down Sollux’ thigh and between his legs, and stroked him through his breeches. Sollux let out a quiet whimper and Eridan wondered if he had ever even been touched like this before.

“Did I ask you to coddle him?” Vriska asked. “Get on with it. Captor will be falling asleep before you are done.”

Eridan scoffed. He would be more assertive, then. Taking Sollux’ shoulders he forced him forwards and into the floor with his hips in the air. Eridan ground his crotch against his rear and though Sollux tried to look unaffected there was no denying that he was growing hard. Eridan had to wonder whether he had ever lain with anyone, but he would suppose not. Sollux’ weak but frequent responses did not speak of great experience.

Thinking he would regret it, Eridan licked Sollux’ neck while he pulled his breeches down. It tasted of salty sweat and blood. Everything was covered in blood. He bit down and Sollux moaned in dismay and pleasure. Eridan was inside him, taking him, when Vriska yawned loudly.

“This is boring. And shameful. Are you certain you would not like to give in, Sollux? You may stop at any time if only you tell me where your friends are, and stop the princeling from boring you to death with his prick.”

“Tell her, you filthy whore,” Eridan breathed down Sollux’ neck. He wanted to stop before Sollux gave her a reason to reveal Feferi’s death. Little else about the situation mattered. He was not the lowblood being dominated and he would have his revenge.

“N-never,” Sollux said choked and trembling. His legs were quivering in Eridan’s firm grasp.

“Too bad. It would be such a shame if Feferi ever saw you our found out. I know what you are thinking,” Vriska went on. “‘She will understand’, you think. The fact of the matter is that she would not. I am _so_ sorry to deliver these news at a time like this, when you are so awfully preoccupied, but your dear Princess is dead.”

Sollux made a choked, spluttering noise and grabbed Eridan by the arm to stop him. “No! How?”

“You damned idiot. Why do you think the princeling is locked up? You did not even think to ask? I know the Condesce is volatile, but there is reason behind her actions. The boy skewering you killed her on their wedding night.”

Eridan drew away. In this tiny cell he could not get far, but there was not enough distance in the world to put between him and Sollux’ wrath. Sollux went from uncaring and compliant and threw himself around with murder in his eyes. Eridan screamed as he was dragged away from his corner by his ankles. “It was Vriska!” he shrieked. “She forced my hand and tricked me. She had already seen to the death of my lover’s closest friend, I could not let her have him as well.” He continued blathering on about his regret and guilt, but Sollux laid his hands around his throat and silenced him. His blind fury fuelled him with enough strength to choke a boar if he had to.

Vriska was laughing in the background. “Yes, Captor. Kill him and relieve him of his suffering, while you live on in disgust and revulsion at the memory of him taking you. He dies knowing his last action was to force his dead wife’s lover into submission. Is that what you would like?”

Sollux did not appear to listen. When it wasn’t enough to choke Eridan he began to slam his head into the floor. Eridan clawed and thrashed underneath him and he so wished he had not sent Equius away. He needed his blue knight to carry him away from this dark hell and take all the pain away. In his death throes he saw his blue knight again for the first time, only just a man grown and yet tall and strong as any lord. Whatever Equius thought or felt about him Eridan would die knowing he was safe.

He had gotten sentimental too soon. Air suddenly flowed back into his lungs as he gasped and sputtered. Black spots danced before his eyes. Sollux had let go. Vriska praised him.

“Let him know the pain he put you through. The pain he put _her_ through before he killed her.”

“No,” Eridan groaned, but the word was a hoarse whisper. “That is not...”

Vriska rose with the lamp in hand, laughing while she walked away from them and left them in the dark. Eridan was almost glad of the darkness so Sollux could not see his tears as he was forced down on his stomach and held down. Vriska had won. She did not even have to stay and threaten them; Sollux took him in return purely to hurt him, for revenge. He did not make a sound, but Eridan screamed until he was nothing but broken sobs from fear and shame. He was not so much in pain as he was frightened and dishonoured. That he got off did not make matters better.

When Sollux finished and crawled off, Eridan lay crying in silence until he had no more tears. It was not for himself. His suffering was not even close to that of Sollux and even after such an act he was filled with guilt. The abuse in itself did not open his eyes, but Sollux’ sheer anger and desperation to hurt him in any way possible was shocking.

If nothing, the abuse had served to calm Sollux down. Eridan could hear him panting in the darkness. For a while they could only hear each other breathing.

“Is it true what she said?” Sollux asked after some time. “That you feel guilt for her murder?”

“I regret ever listening to Serket altogether,” Eridan whispered. “She blinded me with fear and jealousy. I was so in love with Feferi it hurt to even think of her with anyone else. At the same time she threatened someone else I love.”

“Someone else,” Sollux said spitefully.

“I know!” Eridan wailed. “I was selfish. I realized that soon afterwards.”

“Did you rape her before you murdered her?”

“I did no such thing. She was ready to let me have her but I did not take her. She died with her innocence.” Sollux said nothing to this. Eridan picked himself up off the floor. He ached all over but he began to blindly put the remains of his clothes back in order. “What we did was talk. She spoke of you so fondly and I told her of my own secret love. For a while we were once again like innocent children, as good friends as any brother and sister. She would have aided me, had I not been too afraid to defy Serket.”

“You are a craven. Everyone knows and no one expects you to be anything short of scared and pathetic.”

Eridan did not care that Sollux had no interest in his story. He had so much regret he needed to get off his chest. “Had I accepted her offer we could have schemed against the Condesce together. Right now we could have been sharing wine while speaking of our loves and our hopes. We could have won this war together, her and I. Once we were in charge we could leave each other. You and her would have the throne and I... She would be too kind to send me off, and Equius...” He scoffed. “He became a traitor for you and yet you sold him out the moment you were imprisoned.”

“It was not for us,” Sollux said. “He once loved a lowblood who fled from the Condesce. He had a moment of weakness, not sympathy for our cause. It matters not any more. Nothing matters. Feferi would have brought upon us an era of peace and prosperity. She would care for the weak and give justice true meaning. Because of you this cannot happen. There was no one more suitable to sit the Coral Throne.”

“I was afraid,” Eridan repeated quietly. _Also jealous and selfish_ , he added in his mind. He had only wanted Equius to live. How could such good intentions deteriorate into this sort of horror? “In the end Serket played us both. Because we dared to love she made rapers of us. So far I can think of nothing worse that the sick woman has done.”

“I am not proud of what I have done but I will not and cannot apologize, because you deserve agony and shame. You have destroyed all hope.”

Eridan would not argue. From the following silence and sniffs he could only surmise that Sollux was quietly pouring out his grief.


	26. DAVID

It was the calm before the battle. No wind stirred the waves and their ships barely made a ripple in the shallow water. Dave had changed into armour more befitting himself. The men would not complain and he would not go into war in his brother’s overly extravagant mail. He preferred his equipment to be straightforward and convenient. His only treachery towards this ideal was his sword.

This blade of valyrian steel had been passed from their late father to Dirk. In a moment of youthful jealousy, Dave had stolen the blade and accidentally broken it. Dirk had been too impressed to be angry with him and had given him the broken sword as a mocking trophy. Dave had wielded it since, and even with half a blade he had yet to be bested.

With him on the flagship were Ser John and their Maester. Ser John had insisted to Lady Rose that if his wife was going to war, so would he. It had been a sore farewell with their daughter Jane, but Lady Harley would look after her in their absence. John had always been a good friend to Dave, and while separated from his brother it was good to have him. John was a skilled an honoured knight. His plain steel mail was scuffed and worn. Its only embellishment was a swirling blue pattern of enamel on his chest that was repeated on his blue cloak.

Their other companion had been a teacher and councillor to House Strider for as long as Dave could remember. Roxy and Jane had also taken a strong shine to her and she had had been both accommodating and kind to the girls. Maester Calliope was a tactician and scholar with as many links to her chain as the Grand Maester. With her, Dave was confident he would not let his brother down.

He knew little of Calliope’s story from before she came to the west. Her skin was golden and her head was barren of hair; she was no doubt from an exotic far-off land with vastly different customs to theirs. Her scalp and cheeks were painted with red tattoos and she dressed herself in a rich, dark green gown decorated with red gemstones that formed the sigil of her house.

“What do the omens tell you?” Dave asked her. She was at the bow of the ship, looking ahead with concern. Dave had little faith in omens but he would like her to speak with him of her worries rather than stand in silence and unnerve the men.

“I apologize for my lack of council, Ser David. Something in the horizon came to my attention. It looked at first to be an islet, but I believe its position has changed. It is hard to tell at this distance.”

“Maester, I have no time for guesses,” Dave said, trying to be as polite as possible. “If you are unable to tell, that other thing you see in the horizon is Dualscar’s fleet which we must mow through in order to get to shore. My men are readying their bows and very shortly we will be at war.”

“My dear Ser David, This is why this is of great consequence.” Calliope pointed towards the shape. It looked to be growing. They could see movement, like someone operating oars. It became obvious that it was a small boat. It could barely hold the three people in it. “They come from shore. Perhaps they are here to negotiate. Stay your attack and listen to what they have to say; even an enemy deserves that courtesy.”

“It could be a trick,” Dave said. He looked behind to Ser John, who had been going over his bow for the fiftieth time since they entered hostile waters.

“For all we know, whoever is in that boat has nothing to do with the fleet,” John said. “Who knows? Perhaps Dualscar is staying his ships and waiting for you to attack first. He does not seem very negotiable to me.”

“Yes, because this is obviously the time and place to have a leisure trip in the rowboat.” John had such silly notions at times. With no clear explanation of this situation, the three of them remained at the bow, staring at the slowly approaching party.

“Only two of them are armed, Ser David, and one looks injured. This does not look like any type of attack to me,” Calliope said. Dave would have to agree. Two of the men looked like beggars, filthy and dressed in rags. On closer inspection one wore a leather jerkin. The third man was cleaner, but decked in blood and dressed in a fine linen shirt and breeches. He wore greaves and pointed solerets in black and violet, but the rest of his armour looked to have been abandoned.

“Deserters?” John wondered.

“Possibly, or something else entirely. Prepare to take them aboard,” Dave commanded.

“What of the attack?”

“It will wait until I say otherwise, Ser John.”

They watched the boat approach and helped the men aboard. Dave assisted the tall, lanky man in greaves in lifting the wounded one onto deck. His injury was heartbreakingly severe for one who was barely a man grown.

“I understand you are no men of the Condesce or Dualscar,” Dave said to the small man in the leather jerkin.

“I am Karkat Vantas. I lead the revolution,” the small man said. “This is Tavros Nitram, another man of the revolution, and lastly our friend and now ally Ser Gamzee Makara. We would not have been alive if not for him.”

“Maester Calliope, see to their wounds,” Dave ordered before looking to Vantas again. “The Beggar Knight. I expected you, but I had thought you would be the tall one. Are you all that remains of the revolutionaries?”

“Likely,” Vantas replied with displeasure. “The Condesce killed all my men and weeded our followers out of the city. We were three who survived but my third man, Sollux Captor, is lost on us. I pray he escaped, your grace.”

“‘My lord’,” Dave corrected. “I am the Prince Regent’s brother, Ser David.”

Vantas frowned. “Where is the Prince Regent, then? Is this not _his_ bloody flagship?”

“He undertook an important mission and will meet us with reinforcements if we are fortunate. Our men trust me just as much to lead them to victory.”

“He hopes to take the Coral Throne and yet he is not even here for the battle?” Vantas snarled. “I am not fighting this damned revolution so we will have another monarch who regards my land as a trophy and its people one to be subjugated, spending his time drinking wine and fucking whores. I expected the Prince Regent to come here and fight for the people.”

“That is exactly why he has come,” Dave insisted. “He is not here to take the land. He intends to kill the Condesce and put a worthy man on the throne.”

“Well, he _hasn’t_ come, has he? Instead he sends his damned brother.”

“And how does that even matter? Most men cannot even tell the difference.”

“Oh, you think yourself a proper royal shit, do you?”

“F-forgive him,” the younger said timidly. “He is not taking the loss of our friend well.”

Dave paid him no mind. The rebel leader’s mouth was quick and foul, and Dave had a mind to put him in his place. His replies were cool and factual while the Beggar Knight shouted more profanities the more he was worked up. They would go into battle together and it was best to have Vantas let his steam out beforehand so he could be focused later. Dave was vaguely aware of the uncomfortable situation around them.

John and Ser Makara had laid Nitram down on a blanket on deck so Calliope could examine him. The state of his legs filled her with remorse. “It pains me to say this, love, but you have gone too long without care. Your bones have begun to heal at the wrong angle and may never work properly again.” The boy looked crestfallen and the knight put his hand on his shoulder to comfort him. “I will do what I can,” Calliope promised. She had always been soft and caring. “But I can promise nothing, dear Ser.”

“You should have her tend to your wounds,” Dave told Vantas.

“I am not done telling you how undesirable it is to have you as my king! No one is putting one stitch into me before I have destroyed any such vile and repugnant notions that you may have.”

Calliope looked to Ser Makara next. His cuts were insignificant, but this did not deter her from fussing over the scars on his face. They were three cuts across the bridge of his nose that had been carefully tended to already.

“Ser David,” Calliope called out to him. “My dear, Tavros Nitram should not be on this ship while we sail for shore. This sweet, injured child has no place in a battle.”

“There is nothing to be done about that. We have already given the enemy too much time. Vantas, pull yourself together. We need to put some armour and weapons on you and Ser Makara if you intend to fight. Though if you are tired, I am sure Maester Calliope would not mind your company while I take my men to war.”

“I will fight,” Vantas snapped. “Fit me into a new jerkin if you have. As you see I already have a sword.”

“But not your own, is it?” Dave could tell. “It looks to me far too heavy and long for someone of your stature.”

“Piss on you,” Vantas scowled. “This sword belonged to Ser Serket, the Bitch Knight. I would reunite them and have her head in one gesture.”

The men on the ship grew increasingly worried that Dave might snap and throw the rebel leader overboard at any time, but Dave was honestly amused. He never smiled; that was a thing he never did, and taking this man seriously was another of those things. “From what I have heard of Ser Serket there will be a long line of potential executioners. She is the Condesce’s most trusted servant; I would not mind cutting her up myself.”

“Do not dare take that pleasure away from me!”

“Ser John,” Dave called out. “See to it that Ser Makara and the Beggar Knight are armoured.”

“That is not a title anyone other than a bloody moron would use to me in person, you realize. It is not exactly a term of endearment,” Vantas growled at him. Dave would have taunted him further, but they had an invasion to start.


	27. SOLLUX

Sollux had never been more disgusted with himself. It didn’t matter now, at any rate. Feferi was gone and he was marched to the bailey by Ser Serket and several men from the Queensguard. The Prince was next to him and they were both in chains. They would die together and Sollux’ only regret was that they could not take Serket with them, both for revenge and to shut her up about what she had made them do.

The bailey was almost empty but for some handpicked men of the Queensguard, some soldiers and, of course, the Condesce. Everyone else was busy with the imminent battle. Dualscar’s ships were clashing with the Prince Regent’s that very moment and the Condesce was laughing with Serket. They would see how long Dualscar’s incompetence could keep Prince Dietrich’s forces away from shore.

The guards brought him and Eridan up on the platform to face her and forced them down on their knees. They were dirty and ragged from their time in the dungeon and neither looked like more than a slave. Eridan’s usually gorgeous, wavy hair hung filthy and limp around his face. Sollux felt some satisfaction in seeing the dark bruises on his neck. He wondered whether the Condesce would let him kill Eridan, since they would both be executed either way. She went on a long speech about how this was their trial and what they were accused of, but it was a play for the gallery. Sollux knew they were dead men and indeed, after much talk she sentenced them to die.

Ser Serket drew her sword; it was a new one, not that Sollux could tell. He looked at Eridan. The Prince was bowing his head but he was sneering. Surely he was displeased to be beheaded next to a lowblood, as if the Condesce could not be bothered to give him time for a private execution. Sollux scoffed. If his death insulted the Prince then he would gladly accept it. It was his turn first. Ser Serket stood over him with her sword raised. He closed his eyes. His whole body was tense but he did not know why; his head was calm. A natural reaction perhaps.

Someone called out for the Condesce to cease. Sollux wondered what in the Seven Hells was going on _now_. He looked up and saw Dualscar. Eridan was still sneering, and perhaps he had known they might be interrupted, that his father would make a fool of himself.

“We knew your son was a craven, but it seems you finally have proven yourself as one, too,” Ser Serket cried out. “You should be out fighting for Her Grace!”

Dualscar paid her no mind. He told the Condesce that she would free his son and renounce the throne or she would be killed. So it was true, the Condesce said and laughed. Treason was in the blood. The Prince had claimed her daughter’s life and now Dualscar would try and claim hers. Except she was no helpless maiden to be stabbed in the back.

“I stabbed her in the stomach,” Eridan grumbled under his breath. As if anyone would call him less of a craven for killing a defenceless girl face to face. No one heard him other than Sollux, either way.

Ser Serket got in front of the Condesce as she commanded the Queensguard and the surrounding soldiers to kill Dualscar. He told her it was no use. Every soldier there who was not of the Queensguard was loyal to him. She was surrounded and the Queensguard greatly outnumbered. He gave her one final chance to abdicate.

It was fair to assume the Condesce would not step down, but the words had no time to escape her before Ser Serket’s sword impaled her chest. The Condesce was dead before she hit the ground. Ser Serket set her sword into the floor and kneeled.

“The Queensguard and I have waited to swear fealty to you, Dualscar,” she said. Dualscar was not impressed by her, but neither did he order his men to seize her. He told her that if she wished to serve, she would swear fealty to his son once he sat upon the Coral Throne. He ordered her to cut him loose. Eridan was freed and he rose to his feet. He said nothing. He looked to be too shaken.

Dualscar ordered that Sollux be cut free as well. This new reign would be one that could listen to the revolutionaries and together find a way for the castes to live in peace. Captor would be spared despite his sentence as a sign of good faith. Dualscar prayed that the lower and upper class together could defend their home against the western savages who wished to take the land by force. His words meant shit to Sollux, but he let them cut him loose.

“This was planned?” he asked Eridan. “You knew of this all along and you did not say anything?” Had he known he might live, he would have saved them both a lot of undignified pain. He might have thought more clearly and suffered his hate for Eridan in silence.

“I had no way of knowing my father would actually spare you,” Eridan hissed under his breath before Dualscar took him by the shoulder to lead him inside. He told Sollux and Serket to follow, and for her to bring the rest of the Queensguard.

“We will be renaming the Queensguard,” Eridan said resolutely. Sollux followed him and Dualscar without knowing what to expect. Had he been armed he would not have bothered; he would have stabbed Ser Serket’s gloating face and let them behead him. These morons could not possibly think she was on their side, or that _he_ was for that matter. He was once again a prisoner, but he would perhaps be treated a little better before they decided he was useless to them and killed him.

Dualscar had one hand firmly on Eridan’s shoulder as they walked back up to the castle. Eridan would make him Hand and they would coronate him as soon as he had changed into something that did not make him look like a used whore from the streets. Sollux’ feelings were torn.

“But you still mean to fight Prince Dietrich?” Eridan asked. “We could negotiate for peace. They wanted the Condesce dead and they might see the merit in an allegiance to us.”

Dualscar said that no such thing was necessary. With the Queensguard and the rest of the Condesce’s men added to their numbers, the Prince Regent could not hope to defeat them. They had no reason to negotiate with the savages. In best case they would capture the Prince Regent alive and take control of the west. Sollux could see exactly where this was going.


	28. DIETRICH

The waters around the capital were a graveyard of sunken ships. Burning remains of boats and men floated past them in the water as Dirk and his crew sailed in. They heard the screams from the city like a faint background noise, as if the real world was beyond a veil and they were silently floating through the underworld. The fog lay thick over the water surface and curled around the ship. Pyralspite was a shadow underwater, sometimes seen other times not. Some of the bloated corpses around them would suddenly disappear, as if something had pulled them under never to be seen again.

“He must be hungry,” Dirk murmured to Terezi.

“He is always hungry,” she cooed. “Tell me when I should call on him to attack. We can melt the city down within the hour.”

“It would be preferable not to level the capital, but Pyralspite will have his fill once we have rejoined my men and we are certain they cannot be harmed in the attack.”

“A wise decision,” she lamented.

Dirk saw Lady Rose and Lady Roxanne at the bow. He imagined Rose was giving her daughter a final lecture before they entered battle. He would not disturb the women, but instead he went to see Ser Jacob. He was at the tiller. Roxy had helped him on with his armour, Dirk had watched, but his helmet was off and he smiled brightly at Dirk.

“I am glad to have you at my side, Ser David. This will be my first time partaking in a real battle. I hope we will find your brother the Prince Regent soon.”

 _Look at this boy_ , Dirk thought. _It feels as if I we played knights with wooden swords only a month ago_. “You are not scared?” he asked when he was sure no one else was around to hear. He wanted Jake to be honest with him.

“Not at all! A true knight is never scared.”

“A smart one would be,” Dirk murmured. “My brother may already have been slain.”

“He is far too clever and skilled. I myself could never best him,” Jake praised without restrain. “I hear even you have a hard time matching his strength, so surely he is the best swordsman there is.”

“Anything could happen on the battlefield. What would we do if he fell?”

Jake became uncomfortable. It was not like him to think of these things and Dirk knew he was being cruel, but he needed an answer. _He_ was afraid, though he would not show it. “Our task would still be to liberate the city. You would be the Prince Regent and you would lead us to victory, I am certain. But I cannot even begin to tell you how deeply I would grieve.” In other words, nothing would change, Dirk thought bitterly.

Jake could not walk away from the tiller. Seeking him out here was an almost cruelly tactical manoeuvre to play against this dim-witted, foolish, _courageous_ man. Dirk took his helmet off so he could look him properly in the eyes.

“Jake, you have been my friend and my loyal servant since we were children. I have been at my late father’s war councils and I have seen him fight glorious battles, but this will be the first time _I_ go to war. Nothing pleases me more than to go with you.”

“Oh, I...”

Dirk held his hand up to silence him. He was not finished. “We may face our deaths today. I have a confession to make, and I pray we will both live through the night and together share in my feelings.”

“Ser David...” Jake was awfully flushed.

“No one is looking; there is no need to call me Ser David.” Dirk took his hand. It would have been more romantic if they were not decked in armour, but perhaps it would play up to Jake’s heroic fantasies. One never knew with this boy. Dirk had thought of many ways to confess his feelings. He had discussed the matter many times and at length with Rose and Maester Calliope. They had talked of the consequences and the possibilities, and he had run a hundred scenarios through his head. He had had half a mind to serenade this foolish romantic but this was no time or place.

He would have liked to be glamorous and over the top; his feelings were not to be taken lightly. Then it had occurred to him that any advance would seem grand in Jake’s fantasy-riddled, ludicrous mind. Dirk leaned forward and kissed him, with one gauntleted hand on his arm. When Jake did not melt into his arms he drew him closer, insistent on sweeping this man-child off his feet and make him fall headfirst for him. One could not reject someone in the face of death, surely? Particularly not a prince. But Jake pushed him off.

“D-dear Gods. I... I am so sorry,” he spluttered. “I did not know you had such thoughts of me.”

Any other man would have realized ages ago. Dirk looked at him with a deadpan stare. “Truly. I take it you are about to tell me your affinity lies elsewhere. I suppose I understand. I hear Jane cares a lot for you.”

“She is a friend! Do not misunderstand me, I do care about you in so many ways, but I... There is no harm in admitting it to you, though I would hate to break your heart.” A longing expression came over him. “The Gods have seen fit to curse me with feelings that can never be reciprocated. I love your brother, though I know the Prince Regent could never look twice at me.”

“Jake...” This utterly mindless, idiotic, blind buffoon would be the death of him. Damned be the day his affections for this moron had dawned upon him.

Jake winced. “I so wish I could reciprocate.”

“It’s me, you damned fool. _I_ am Dirk. Are you sure the one you fell for is actually the Prince Regent and that you did not have us confused all along?”

“No!” Jake exclaimed. “No, no I am sure of my feelings.” He stared at Dirk. “So that means _you_ love me? Not Ser David? Seven Hells, the things I have said about you while I thought you were Dave, I...”

Dirk kissed him again in hopes that he would stop talking. Jake did eventually realize that everything had turned out in their favour. Their breastplates scraped together as they furiously tried to fill this one moment with enough kisses to last them the lifetime together that they might not get. They very nearly buckled over before Dirk drew away. Jake let out a low whine.

“Take us to land,” Dirk ordered. “We have a battle to win.”

Reminded of the tiller, Jake quickly took hold of it again and nodded. “Yes, Your Grace,” he stammered.

“Don’t you dare call me that,” Dirk warned him. He kissed Jake on the cheek before leaving him to his task. It would not do to be hiding while the ship reached land. He joined the Lalondes at the bow.

The city was near empty. Surely, their forces would have been greatly weakened by Dualscar’s fleet. The Queen should have beaten them back by now and been waiting at shore to receive them with fire and steel. Instead he saw a small group of his men at the pier, and there was his brother and Ser John. He felt such immense relief at the sight of Dave, he hopped off deck before the ship had stilled.

“You are looking a lot less dead than I expected,” he said. Dave stepped forward to greet him with a nod.

“Not due to skill or tactics. We were in the middle of a losing battle when the Condesce called her soldiers back to the castle. The city is ours but with our current numbers we cannot hope to take the castle. What of your mission?”

“A success.” He told Dave of their quest while the others disembarked. Dave would not believe his tale until he saw Pyralspite crawl out of the water and onto a building where he proceeded to dry his wings off with his breath of fire. It took some reassurance from Terezi that they would not be harmed, and then the men cheered.

“And who is this knight?” Dirk asked and inclined his head towards a man he had not seen before.

“No knight but the Beggar Knight,” Dave said. “This is Karkat Vantas.”

“Vantas will do,” the Beggar Knight said sourly. “Your Grace. We should make plans while the battle is at a standstill. We do not know what is keeping the Condesce from crushing us, but something is going on in that castle. I can’t imagine it will matter, though; damn me if I am not seeing a live dragon on our side.”

“You had me fooled for a moment, Ser Beggar. And you are right, let us hold council,” Dirk said. It was no wonder he had thought Vantas to be a knight; he had been given a beautifully crafted leather jerkin, bracers and greaves. Upon closer inspection he recognized it as Dave’s but someone, likely the Maester, had found time to redo the sigil upon the jerkin’s breast. He saw now that it was the grey mark of the revolution and not a noble house.

He tried not to look amused as Vantas sneered at his brother. “See, now you made him think it alright for him to call me by that damned name.”

“He is the Prince Regent, he calls you whatever he likes,” Dave replied.

Vantas would not complain for long. They seated themselves at the dock for council and introductions were made, and Dirk made sure the Beggar Knight knew what weight his name held in the west. He was known as the fierce and capable leader of the revolution, and this lessened his anger considerably. He was courteous to the Lalondes and quick to build a repertoire with Terezi. The two spoke of this kingdom as it had been before the Condesce arrived from the far east.

Though their castes were on different levels entirely, they had both grown up alone and suffered the loss of friends, the fear of the Condesce and the uncertainty of war. They might as well have shared a lifetime already. Dirk would remind them that they were to hold council, but this break from the war was a necessary evil. He asked for Calliope and heard she was on the flagship, watching over one of Vantas’ wounded men. A knight who had fallen in with the revolutionaries also stayed with them, and they were glad not to have him on shore. He had been less than accountable.

They also had a good laugh over Rose and John’s obligatory row as they were reunited. She fussed over her husband in a passive-aggressive manner, lamenting his need to fight, and John was too kind to hold it against her. They subsided into loving concern and admiration, and Roxy was drawn in quickly. It was good to see the three Lalondes together as a family.

Dirk could not help but notice Dave and Vantas’ continued bickering throughout their dinner break. “If I did not know better I would say you had taken a shine to him, brother.”

“A shine?” Vantas raged immediately. “A _shine_? Spouting insidious remarks and being a damn pain in the arse, is that what you mean? Your Grace,” he added quickly.

“Our poor hedge knight has a particular weakness to harsh words and playful jests alike,” Dave said. “ _Oof_!” He was knocked down from his crate as Vantas pummelled into him like a battering ram and knocked him to the ground. Dirk would let them tussle until he thought they were in danger of falling off the pier and sink under the weight of their armour.

“Ser John, Lady Rose. Do either of you have a suggestion as to how we should approach the situation? What do we know of the castle’s defences?”

“Little, I am afraid,” John said. “Vantas has told us what he knows of the layout. Unless we are capable of climbing the cliffs there is no way to avoid going through the bailey.”

“Where all the soldiers will be piled up and waiting,” Rose agreed. “Our men would be massacred. Pyralspite may be our only chance of getting to the castle, but it will be no trouble for our enemy to find cover from his fire. If we could first draw the soldiers out of the castle they would be easy prey.”

“First we torch the bailey and then we march our remaining men up to the gates. We lure as many as possible out of the castle so that we have a chance at getting to the throne room. There we will meet the elite of the Queensguard. Let us hope our sorceresses can best them,” Dirk said and nodded to Rose and Roxy. “Dave, Vantas; are you quite finished?”

The two ceased their grappling and looked up with a great deal of embarrassment.

“Did you hear the plan?” John asked while trying not to laugh. Vantas was caught underneath Dave, whose armour was far heavier.

“I heard,” Dave said.

“Get off!” Vantas yelled. “Your damned sword is stabbing at my thigh. Has no one told you to wear a bloody sheath?” The broken blade did not cut through his armour, but he looked uncomfortable nevertheless.

“You will be glad of it.” Dave picked himself up and smoothed his hair back. “You should have seen him in the first battle, brother. He has no idea how to use a shield. He would have been full of arrows had he not crawled behind me.”

“How good that he met someone who was trained by a royal sword master since he could walk. If only every hedge knight was as fortunate as to have Ser David look after him,” Dirk said dryly.

“I need no one looking after me, especially not you, Strider,” Vantas scowled at Dave. “You may have proven yourself more useful at sea, but on land I will leave you crying like a sore wench after passing out her cunt to every filthy pervert in the kingdom.”

“Your foul mouth is as legendary as your rebellion, and far more successful in its execution,” Dave quipped back.

Rose had grown tired of them. “As amusing as your budding romance is to watch, we should move before the Condesce has any more time to prepare.”

This resulted in a series of new shouts from Vantas while Dave picked himself up, not seeming to care less. John helped him to his feet again and the party dispersed with their new orders. Dirk and Dave were left on the pier by themselves. In privacy they embraced like brothers should greet one another after a long time apart.

“I feared for you,” Dirk admitted.

“You had no reason to,” Dave told him. “I know what I am doing.”

“You are my younger brother, I will always worry.”

“Younger by an hour,” Dave reminded him as he always did. “You are stalling. Tell me how it went. Did you even dare?”

Dirk hesitated. There were many reasons why he had not confessed to Jake sooner. Each one stood before him at that moment. “He is mine,” he murmured. “He loves me in return. Fiercely so, it seems. It went far better than expected.”

Dave took him by the shoulders. “Good. Have no guilt in your heart, brother. I wanted this for you. He is no viable queen but he is still a far more appropriate match.”

“I know,” Dirk murmured. “All things considered I would probably be _his_ queen, in that scenario.” He reached his hand up and stroked the back of his hand down Dave’s cheek. “I will miss you.”

“I still love you as a brother, as it was meant to be.”

Dirk nodded solemnly. This was a decision they had both made. He looked forward to what he could build with Jake, but he did kiss his brother one last time.


	29. ERIDAN

The coronation was hardly an event worthy of being called a ceremony. Eridan felt a certain reverence in the moment he took his place on the Coral Throne, but it passed as soon as he realized how damn uncomfortable the chair was. Whose blasted idea was it to make a chair with the prickliest material available? It scraped his skin and scratched his silk garments.

For the ceremony he had chosen black with purple trimmings and his sigil in purple. His father had asked, jesting, if he was in mourning and he had not replied. Feferi had been meant to sit on this throne.

Ser Serket, Maester Maryam and Sollux had been ordered to dress up. The rest of the attendants were soldiers. Under Dualscar’s watchful eyes, Maryam put the crown on Eridan’s head they all swore fealty to him in turn. Eridan did not trust any of them. He named his father Hand of the King as promised and then the party dispersed. Dualscar had a mind to hang the Condesce’s corpse from the portcullis so everyone would know there was finally a King. He also took command of the troops.

Eridan wondered whether Equius was still alive. He wanted to send someone for him and call him back, but it was a selfish move while the war was still going. On the other hand he was desperate to have even one trustworthy man at his side. Though he was still not entirely certain as to where Equius’ loyalty lay, he would sooner trust him than any of those who had sworn “fealty” to him. They were only waiting for the Prince Regent to take the castle. Eridan called Maryam to him.

“Take a letter for me,” he told her. Once she had found quill and paper he told her what to write. “I need a message sent to Ser Equius Zahhak. You will inform him of the change of regent. The Condesce had him marked a traitor, but let it be known today that he shall be hailed as a hero and is free to return to the capital and resume his place in the Kingsguar...”

“Queensguard, your Grace. It has not been officially renamed.”

Eridan sighed. “Resume his place in the Queensguard once the fighting has ceased.”

“After the battle, your Grace?” Maryam asked.

“I have not absolved him of his crimes as an incentive. First he must swear fealty to me, then I will ask him to fight my battles,” Eridan declared. “I see no way of arranging that until after the city is won, do you?”

“No, your Grace.” She started writing. Eridan would see to it afterwards that she had filled in all the titles and written it in a proper, official manner. He did not trust himself to narrate, because he would feel compelled to lavish his blue knight with endearments and words of longing.

“Where will we even send it?” Ser Serket asked. She was looking more bored by the minute. “Would you send all our men out to look for a traitor who could be hiding anywhere? He most certainly has not been seen fighting alongside the rest of the rebels.”

“What do you mean ‘the rest of the rebels’?” Sollux spluttered. Eridan had forgotten him, as he had been brooding in a corner through this entire event. What in the name of the Gods, old and new alike, was he even doing here still?

“Quiet, Captor,” Eridan ordered him. “Serket, what _do_ you mean by ‘the rest of the rebels’?”

She shrugged. “I thought your Grace knew that the Beggar Knight is fighting alongside House Strider. I apologize; I forget you were preoccupied during the first half of the battle when Vantas and Ser David led the attack on the city and massacred many of our men.”

“What of Ser Makara and Nitram?” Sollux asked. Eridan grew increasingly annoyed, but out of the two he hated Serket the most.

“What does it even matter?” Serket sneered. “What we should be asking ourselves is why we are allowing Captor to live while his comrades fight on the enemy’s side.”

“He swore fealty to me,” Eridan said. “The rebel alliance no longer exists. Three men do not make an uprising, and what Vantas and Nitram does no longer represents the people or those who followed them, nor does Captor.” He would defend Sollux if only to see the scowl on Serket’s face. “And what of you? I do not see you out there, fighting for your King. Take your men and make use of yourself instead of hiding here.”

“It is for your protection, your Grace.”

Eridan rose from the throne. He made no attempt at hiding his hatred while he glared at her. “I hear the men whisper all sorts of nonsense about a dragon. Could it be you are afraid?” He was no more eager to face the enemy forces than her, but it felt too damn good to call Serket a craven. There were things in the world that also made _her_ knees quiver with fright.

“Do not complain when Captor sticks a dagger in your back,” Ser Serket snapped back at him and turned on her heel. She took the Queensguard with her. Eridan looked over Maryam’s letter. He picked out one man and sent him north with the message.

“Everyone else, out. Except for you, Captor. I would have a word with you.” Everyone heeded his orders. Surely this could not be true. The crown rested upon _his_ head and he was in control, as far as his father allowed. He saw Maryam was lingering and turned to her with gritted teeth. “I said to leave.”

“Your Grace. Your father seems intent on following in her Imperious Condescension’s footsteps. I would advise you to take your own stand and try for negotiations. The people may yet embrace you as their King if you see to the needs of all the castes.”

“Grand Maester, I have told you to leave. I am King now, whether any caste approves.”

Eridan knew she thought him a fool as she bowed and left. It was true what he said though; he was the King now. He would simply not be so for very long. Betraying his father would simply ensure an even earlier death. When they were alone, he turned to Sollux. “What are you still doing here?” he asked.

“You asked me to stay,” Sollux said through gritted teeth.

“What I mean is, why have you not gotten away while you still can? For Feferi I would not have you killed, but you are no friend of mine.”

“Nor you a friend of mine. In short time, Karkat Vantas and the Striders will be here and I will make certain that you are given your rightful punishment. Do not for an instant mistake my oath for truth. I would kill you myself, had you not shown mercy and let me live first.”

“Indirectly,” Eridan corrected him. “My father decided to spare you.”

“One of his decisions that you could actually have swayed, I am sure. Murder comes naturally to him it seems. He has no actual need of me.”

Eridan supposed there was truth in that. Sollux’ life was worth nothing. They stood in embarrassed silence. Eridan had no desire to kill again. He felt ugly and disgusted with himself after what he had done to Feferi. He would not dishonour her further by having the man she loved murdered. Sollux, in return, was reluctant to sully himself further. He had faced his mortality down in that dungeon and Eridan could not begin to imagine how it felt, how anything could matter anymore. Their hatred for each other had become a moot point.

“Why do you not call for negotiations?” Sollux asked. “You may be forced to compromise in order to keep the throne, but you will have a chance at true power instead of being your father’s puppet.”

“If he was dead, perhaps. I already explained this.” Eridan was seriously considering this option, but it was Dualscar who had bought the soldiers and not him. He had only been King for a few hours and the men held no loyalty to him that he could rely upon.

“You would let him kill everyone. Do you even feel anything at all? A stupid question, considering what you have done.”

“I said I would have called for negotiations if I could!”

“What is stopping you, _Your Grace_? The bloody Hand?”

A deafening roar ended their argument. A blinding, orange light danced across the windows and left them charred and caked with ash. Screams rose from the bailey. Outside the blackened windows they saw something immense and winged. Eridan stumbled back in fear and fell into the throne with a half choked noise. Sollux was no less fearful and these people were meant to be on his side.

“I think I will find my father and again raise the possibility of negotiations,” Eridan whimpered. Then hide.


	30. KARKAT

Karkat’s face did not do his shock and confusion justice, and he had quite the expressive face. He had gone back to the pier on Terezi’s request and he was not entirely sure what he was looking at. Ser David and the Prince Regent looked far too involved for what he was comfortable knowing about. He could not pry his eyes away and by the time he decided to sneak off Ser David let go of his brother and turned to him.

“What is it, Vantas?” He acted as if nothing had happened. That suited Karkat just fine.

“Terezi,” Karkat croaked. This was too embarrassing. “She asked for the two of us to guard her during the battle.”

“I thought she would be riding Pyralspite,” Prince Dietrich said. He exchanged a look with Ser David. Karkat hoped it was not some secret signal to have him murdered so that their secret might die with him.

“She said she hates flying. It does not agree with her blindness,” Karkat replied.

“I would be honoured,” Ser David said. “Godspeed, brother.” He left Prince Dietrich to follow Karkat. “Where is she?”

“She was up in the city when I spoke to her, trying to convince the beast not to chew on the curtain wall.”

“A promising sign.”

Karkat grew increasingly uncomfortable while they walked. Ser David did not seem eager to bring up the topic at all. Karkat had heard of the raunchy and free men of the west, who openly indulged in strange depravities and would as soon lay with men as women without a second thought. He had thought it must be liberating not to be chastised for loving as one liked, but Ser David was not even trying to explain or excuse himself. Karkat had to say something. “That... That was not very brotherly, was it?”

“Hm? No,” Ser David said. Still he was not defending their actions and Karkat grew more worried still.

“I will not tell anyone,” he promised. “Not a soul! There is no need to silence me; I am not some cheap, gossiping whore who spreads rumours as readily as she spreads disease.”

Ser David drew a deep breath. “Vantas, you are making a fool of yourself. It means nothing, not anymore.”

“No?” _Anymore_. That meant there had at some point been something. Karkat wondered if he was overreacting or if his hysteria was suitable.

“When I learned of his affections for Ser Jacob I told him both he and I need to dare ourselves to find affection elsewhere, not spend our lives in the safety of brotherly love. He has found it. I will not be seeing him again in that fashion.”

“I... see.” Karkat found no humorous insults or quips that seemed suitable. The situation was altogether embarrassing to him and Ser David had apparently broken up a relationship that very moment. Whether his relationship had been inappropriate or not, this was nothing to make light of. The incest would not even bother Karkat had he been able to stop depicting the brothers in his mind. Naked, squirming... He swore to himself, at times rotting away in the Condesce’s dungeon would have been a just punishment for him. He could not look at Ser David, and the sight of Terezi was a sweet mercy.

“Karkles!” she said fondly. “I thought I heard the pattering of your light feet.” She reached blindly for him.

“Karkles?” Ser David asked.

“Don’t,” Karkat warned him. He took Terezi’s hand. “Where is Pyralspite?”

“Hell if I know,” she laughed. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

“Did you lose him?” Karkat cried.

“Hah, of course not. I sent him ahead to the bailey. We best get up there before your men join the battle. Pyralspite and I have a connection of the mind. I may be blind, but I know where my dragon is.”

“You must excuse Vantas,” Ser David said with a smirk. “He has gotten himself worked up. Impaling someone on his sword might serve to soothe him.”

Karkat had a strong urge to impale Ser David, but he said nothing. Ser David made Terezi laugh and that made his blood boil. He dragged her after him towards the castle with his sword in one hand. Ser David followed, watchful of their surroundings in case some soldiers lingered in the city. The streets were full of corpses. Most commoners had fled, but some had nowhere to go and no chance of getting away. They had hidden in their houses and there had been a number of casualties. It pained Karkat and he would weep for them when this battle came to an end. The Condesce’s men had surely been ordered to slaughter anyone in their way.

He could see Pyralspite swooping up and down in the air over the bailey. The tall stone palisade did thankfully shield his view of their enemy, but he heard their horrified screams and saw the flames licking up over the palisade. This, he thought, was no honourable way of fighting. As much as it conflicted with his nature it was their only chance of freeing the Kingdom.

There were piles of corpses stacked up around the portcullis. A rope of severed heads had been hung from one of the turrets like fleshy beads on a string.

“Is that...?” Ser David whispered. He was looking up to the two bodies that had been tied to the gates. Karkat recognized them both. A girl in her torn wedding gown hung drenched beside the defiled corpse of her mother.

“The Condesce,” Karkat confirmed. “And the Princess.” Wherever Sollux was, he hoped he had not seen this.

“Here? Now?”

“Dead,” Karkat assured Terezi. He bowed his head in respect to Feferi. Their corpses are strung up on the portcullis.”

“Then who is leading our enemies?” Ser David asked. “Is that what their withdrawal was, surrender? In that case Pyralspite is slaughtering the soldiers for no reason.”

Karkat looked over his shoulder. Their men were not far behind them. “No,” he said. “No truce has been called. These bodies have not been put on display as a sign of camaraderie.” He cut Feferi down with some trouble reaching. The waterlogged corpse fell down like a sack of potatoes and Karkat stumbled back not to get crushed beneath it.

Fire was dancing beyond the portcullis. Many lay dead, charred or boiled inside their armour in the middle of the courtyard. Pyralspite was trying to fit his head through a doorway. His sides and wings were peppered with arrows. Most attacks bounced off his scales but he was bleeding in several places. The dragon’s blood was a viscous, teal liquid that spattered the ground.

“We must get the Princess’ body out of the way, this is not befitting,” Ser David said. “I will watch over Terezi if you—”

“ _I_ will watch over Terezi, and I will inform our troops of the Condesce’s demise.” Karkat expected Ser David to argue, but he did not. They were in a pressed situation and Ser David was reasonable. He collected the corpse in his arms and took her away. Karkat took Terezi by her elbow and led her to meet Prince Dietrich who was at the front of their lines. He was just in time to explain before the portcullis opened. In seconds the battle was all around them. The Queensguard was back in the fight and Ser Serket had organized those who had scattered in face of the dragon. Even if Pyralspite had evened their odds somewhat they were still overrun.

Karkat whipped his sword out and got in front of Terezi. He could only presume these were Dualscar’s men now, but it made no difference when he cleaved the first soldier’s head in half and skewered the other through his throat. Prince Dietrich was a few swords away with Ser Jacob at his side, pushing the enemy back. He couldn’t see Lady Rose or Lady Roxanne, but he heard the enigmatic whizzes and crackles of spells from somewhere behind him. He realized they were being attacked from both sides. They had walked right into an ambush.

Arrows rained down over their heads. Karkat gasped out as he was pulled backwards. He hit a steel breastplate and looked up. Ser John had pulled him under cover of his shield. Arrows bounced off the steel escutcheon like rain. In his small moment of protection he was able to look ahead just as Pyralspite dove down at the Queensguard. Fifty bows sang and filled his belly and neck with a blanket of arrows. He lashed after them and caught the Commander in his mouth. There was a terrible scream and Ser Serket was hurled through the air and into the barricades before the castle gates.

There was a wet, revolting _thud_ behind him and a shrivelled exclamation of pain. Karkat turned in time to see Terezi’s back, full of arrows. Before he could call out for her another two sank into the back of her head. She was dead before she hit the ground. That very instant Pyralspite twisted painfully up in the air and howled in loss and animalistic hunger. Next he swept over the bailey, past the palisade and down over the fighting masses before the portcullis. His breath of fire rose from his throat like a great fog that burned men of both the Prince Regent and the enemy.

The battlefield was transformed to a roaring field of fire and confusion. Karkat believed it had been bad before, but now there was no telling whether the men around him were friends or foes. Everything was a shrieking fest of blood and fire. He could not see the Prince Regent or Ser Jacob. For a second he thought a soldier in the maws of the dragon had been Ser John, but it had gone by too fast. The sound of metal against metal was now purely from soldiers desperately trying to crawl over one another in hopes of escaping the dragon.


	31. TAVROS

Tavros woke from dreams of fire and monsters. He was gasping and drenched in sweat, only reminded of his broken legs as he tried to spring up in fright. A hand on his shoulder calmed him down.

“It was no more than a dream, love.” Maester Calliope was at his side, smiling warmly at him. Tavros looked around to assure himself that they were nowhere near the fighting. He could hear the cries and the screams from the city. The bailey was lit up by sporadic bursts of flames, but it had not spread out into the city and turned into the ocean of destruction that he had dreamt of.

“Was it, though,” Tavros muttered. The battle was no further away than that he could see it. What went on over there was a nightmare come true, and all he was capable of was to sit there and do nothing. Even if he could walk he was not certain whether he would have the courage to fight next to his leader.

He saw Gamzee at the bow with his feet dangling off the ship. He had gotten severely bruised during the first stage of the battle when the two fleets had crashed. Calliope had made him remove his shirt to examine his injuries, but there was little she could do for him. She had a salve that might numb his pain, but Gamzee had refused to let her apply it and Tavros was too shy. He could not make himself touch Gamzee in any manner. Simply when he was being carried Tavros felt his face burn and his mind go numb as if he was in a fever. He regretted his lack of courage now, seeing Gamzee’s back yellow and blackened where the broken top of a mast had struck his spine. Tavros winced and looked away.

“You care deeply for him, do you not?” Calliope observed.

“I do,” Tavros admitted. “But I have a hard time showing it. I don’t know if I _can_.”

She put a hand on his shoulder. “You see them fighting, do you not? The men up there are fighting for freedom so that you who live in this land may love and live freely across the blood castes.”

“I did not honestly think of it that way. I always heard the soldier speak of who they thought would sit on the Coral Throne when the war is over. It’s about who gets to rule.”

“Is that not the same thing, in essence?” Calliope asked. “That in mind; you may not be able to go up there and fight with them but you are fully capable of embracing that man’s friendship.”

“He _is_ my friend. Blood caste never had anything to say for either of us. My concern is...” Tavros could not tell her. He did not trust her loving and idealistic words not to become harsh if he told her of Gamzee’s true interests. She was a kind woman, but Tavros felt too vulnerable.

“Your concern is what?”

Tavros had no chance to reply. A massive explosion of fire erupted from the bailey and spread out over the city. He _knew_ the animal was out of control. He did not know if he could find his courage but he could feel the dragon reaching out to him. “Gamzee,” he called out in a stammer. He got his friend’s attention. “You must take me up to the city. If, if it please you.”

Gamzee looked up. He swayed lightly. “You mean the loathsome, festering pigsty with all the fire and the screaming sons of bitches?”

“Do you see any other?” Tavros asked with concern. Gamzee only grinned. He came to pick Tavros up and Tavros reached a hand out for Calliope before they left. “Thank you for tending to us,” he told her. “Keep safe.”

“Are you certain of this, little friend? I am curious to know what that damn clever little mind of yours has thought of to make this an attractive way of action.”

“No, but there is something I need to do.”

“It looks... flashy.” Gamzee grinned wider as another storm of fire rolled over the city. Tavros clung tighter to him. “Don’t be afraid, little man. I am looking after you.”

Tavros was not convinced that Gamzee could make a whole lot of difference against a dragon, but nevertheless he felt reassured. An idea had come to his mind and he was not at all sure whether it would work. It was nothing to worry about, he told himself. If it did not turn out as planned, they would both be dead before they knew what was going on.

The fight had spread out to all the corners of the city. Many had been scared off by the initial appearance of the dragon, but those who were left still fought bitterly while they were out of range from its breath of fire.

“Where does it please you to go?”

“Through the city square and up to the palisade.”

“Oh dear.”

It wasn’t long since the heart of the battle had been up there, then the dragon had scattered everyone to the wind. It had turned the surrounding buildings to funeral pyres as tall as the castle towers and it was crawling between them like a snake in search of prey. The soldiers who were not fighting were desperately hiding or trying to flee. Gamzee had no such instincts. He walked in the middle of the street with his complacent expression while Tavros’ heart hammered in his chest. They heard the roars and the fire coming closer.

A giant white head burst through a burning building. Pyralspite’s gaping maw was filled with dead and not so dead soldiers skewered on his teeth. Severed body parts scattered as he roared and released another cloud of fire. Tavros felt drops of blood touch his face. He cringed and tightened his arms around Gamzee’s neck. Pyralspite’s head swung from side to side like a lizard and the rest of his body slipped out of the building and into the street.

“Here is where we could use a plan,” Gamzee said as Pyralspite reared his head in their direction. Wide, red eyes gleamed like rubies in his skull and he spread his wings and hissed. Tavros held firmly onto Gamzee with one arm while he stretched the other out. His fingers reached for Pyralspite. He trembled but he felt the creature reaching out to him and he was now too scared to turn back. The dragon came towards them at a tremendous speed and one snap of his jaws would be enough to make horribly mutilated and burned corpses of them. He closed his eyes and turned his face away. Gamzee did not move and he had half a mind to yell at him to run.

Cool, damp scales touched against his fingers. He heard a rumbling deep in Pyralspite’s throat and looked up. The dragon was pushing the tip of its snout gently against his fingertips.

“Best plan I have seen all day,” Gamzee muttered under his breath. “I was dangerously close to getting my worry on.”

Tavros let his breath out. He stroked Pyralspite’s snout and furrowed his brows. “He is mourning the loss of his only friend. His heart is consumed with grief and he cannot stop.” Tavros felt the sadness as if it was his own. His fear was forgotten; there was no longer any room for it. He let go of Gamzee and reached both his arms out to hug Pyralspite’s face. He whispered soothing words to the creature while Gamzee held him.

“Help me up,” Tavros told him.

“Up?”

“Onto his back.”

“Son of a whore.”

Tavros had never been so sure of anything in his life. He didn’t care if his legs hurt. Gamzee was able to lift him onto Pyralspite right between his wings. Pyralspite threw his head back and let out a puff of fire and smoke. “You too. I can’t do this without you.”

“Do what?” Gamzee asked. He climbed up though, seating himself behind Tavros so he could help keep him from falling.

“We will end this war,” Tavros said with a surge of confidence. He stroked Pyralspite’s neck. “You can go back to your family and we will not have to suffer for another day,” he whispered. Pyralspite spread his wings and Tavros would have fallen off if he didn’t have Gamzee’s arms around his waist. They took off in one forceful leap. The wind rushed around their ears, deafening and wonderful. Tavros’ heart leapt with joy and he almost laughed had it not been for the carnage and devastation all around them.

He allowed himself a moment to enjoy the flight before he directed Pyralspite towards the enemy. The dragon responded to every gentle word and had no trouble ripping the enemy soldiers out of muddled brawls while leaving their own men unharmed.

The battle looked to be drawing to an end but a huge projectile pierced one of Pyralspite’s wings. He shrieked and tumbled. As he landed on top of a building he took another ballista arrow to the breast. He cantered. Gamzee fell and drew Tavros with him. They both hit the roof and fell through the burning hay, down two floors and onto the ground. Tavros groaned. He couldn’t move at all. It was all over too soon but for a moment he had flown.

It didn’t feel as if he had been out for long, but the battlefield was silent when he came to. Light rain was coming down and had doused most of the fires. Someone had pulled him out of the building. There were people around him. Those who were not silent spoke in hushed voices. He could see Maester Calliope wander past and check on the men who were lying all around him. Some were writhing and looked to be in an awful lot of pain.

Rain was hitting his face. His arms were the weight of lead but he reached up and wiped his face. He would be bruised all over.

“Look, he is all out of slumbering.”

“Whatever that means I think he’s waking up, so give him some bloody space.”

Tavros looked up and saw Karkat and Gamzee. He blinked against the rain and drew a sharp breath, something akin to a sob of relief. He reached up and took them by their necks and pulled both down in an embrace. “You are alive. Thank the Seven. Did we win? Where is Pyralspite?”

Karkat and Gamzee looked at one another. “I promised Ser David and Prince Dietrich I would join them in their damnable council when Tavros awoke. We have still not won,” Karkat said, but Gamzee made no move to explain. Karkat shook his head and put his hand on Tavros’ shoulder. “It is too good to see that you are alive. That stunt you pulled with the dragon was just enough to tip the scales into our favour. The dragon did not survive, but perhaps that is for the better. We would not have lived if you had not been there to control the creature.”

Tavros was stricken with grief. Pyralspite had been a magnificent creature and deserved a better end than to be butchered for their ideals. “Thank you, I suppose. But surely we can give Pyralspite a proper burial?”

“In due time, surely. I must go. There are still soldiers protecting Dualscar inside the castle. We are getting ready for a final assault.”

Tavros watched him go and join the Striders and Ser Jacob to discuss their tactics. Then he looked to Gamzee. “He is sad.”

“Many of ours were butchered,” Gamzee said. “There is no sign of Lady Rose or Ser John. Karkat is in a rage. What makes us any damn better sons of bitches than those sons of bitches that died? Who are we to live.”

“Don’t say that. I was honestly courageous for once and you helped,” Tavros said. He pushed himself up to glare at Gamzee. It was not a very harsh glare, but in the very least petulant. “You have no idea how scared I was when we fell, but for once I was not scared for myself.”

“I never wanted to put a scare in you,” Gamzee said. Tavros reached up to put his hands on Gamzee’s cheeks. He was only bruised, thankfully. They both were. Gamzee leaned closer to him and he immediately grew uneasy. He wouldn’t draw away, though. He had ridden a dragon; he could do this. “Perhaps this is a good time to kiss somewhat.”

“Somewhat. Yes,” Tavros said and swallowed hard. They both waited for something to happen. Like that, the moment came and went as the sound of galloping hooves turned the heads of everyone at camp. A great white steed and its rider came up the main street towards them. They saw the rider as he passed through their makeshift camp. He sat tall in his saddle and wore armour enamelled in royal blue. A heavy cloak hung off the rider’s shoulders like a piece of midnight sky. His helmet was in the shape of a horse’s head with devilish eyes and a long mane that whipped behind him. Upon his chest was the sigil of House Zahhak in silver.

They shouted to him but he went straight past, through the portcullis and across the bailey. At the castle gates his horse reared up and kicked the doors in. The rider dismounted with grace and vanished inside in a sprint. The camp was dead silent.

“Who was that?” Prince Dietrich finally asked.

“Ser Equius Zahhak,” Karkat said lamely.

“Whose side is he on?”

“I haven’t the bloody faintest.”

Ser David rose from the ground and seized his sword. “Are we to sit here and let him make a fool of us, then? Brother, take Ser Jacob, Vantas and half of our men. I will have the rest and we will search the castle from two sides.”

“Vantas goes with you,” Prince Dietrich said. “And take Ser Makara as well. If you are feeling well enough to fight, Ser Makara?”

“If I am not feeling well, cutting off some heads will be a good cure,” Gamzee replied. He looked to Tavros, as if asking permission. Tavros didn’t want him to go, not when he couldn’t go with him.

“Be safe,” he whispered instead. Gamzee still had no proper armour on him and this was a terrible idea, but the party reassembled and got ready for the final assault. Gamzee had another taste of the milk of the poppy before he took his sword and drew his hair out of his face. “Gamzee...” He did not want him to leave again. They had been too lucky. There was no way they would come unscathed out of another battle.

“Shh. I will be back to you soon, little precious thing.” That said Gamzee kneeled down, took him into his arms and kissed him. “Rest easy while I am gone,” he whispered.


	32. VRISKA

Down in the Grand Maester’s chamber, Vriska was fighting not to make a sound. “Is this truly necessary?” she growled through her teeth and eyed the hot iron with distrust.

“You have already lost much blood. There is nothing else I can possibly do for you,” Kanaya said. Once Vriska was firmly biting down on a leather belt she pressed the iron to the stump of her left shoulder. Vriska screamed through her teeth and the belt as her flesh burned. Bits of her stuck to the iron and Kanaya put it back in the fire to heat it up and sear off the slivers. Again she pressed it to the wound, over and over again until the stump was sealed shut and stopped bleeding. Tears of anger and pain ran down Vriska’s face. She spat the belt out, followed by the chunk she had bitten clean off.

“I will murder them all.”

Kanaya wrapped the stump in several layers of linen. “And how do you mean to accomplish that? Who will you defeat in this state? You would be smart to aid Prince Dietrich as he takes down Dualscar. Is treason not your forte? Use it to aid rather than condemn yourself this one time. Dietrich Strider would be a good man to serve.”

“You are on his side?” Vriska asked shocked.

“I simply wish for peace,” Kanaya said. “Dualscar would never give us that, no more than the Condesce would have.”

Vriska furrowed her brows. She saw on Kanaya’s face that she had secretly hoped for the Prince Regent to invade. “And what of Prince Eridan?” she asked. “He is hardly a man grown, but they will not hesitate in killing him if he stands in their way.”

Kanaya scoffed. Vriska knew she had never held any love for the princeling. “If he is enough of a fool to stand in Prince Dietrich’s way, I would personally cleave him in half and spill his guts. I have yet to see a single proof that his rule would be in anyone’s interest but his own.”

“What of me?” Vriska murmured.

“What of you, Ser Serket?”

“I could have the throne. I killed the Condesce; it should be mine.”

“Why would you even want that?” Kanaya asked. She was avoiding the question, but Vriska knew Kanaya would hate to see her rule. This weak-willed hedge witch did not know the first thing about power. Vriska felt over her bandages and took her sword.

“I still have my sword arm.”

“I will not help you again,” Kanaya warned. “Not if you bring us more grief today. Save your own life by aiding the Striders.”

“Thank you, but I will pass.” Vriska left the Maester’s chambers and collected the few men that remained of her Queensguard. They were still loyal to her when everyone else had failed her. The castle had been breached and the battle was going on in every hall and chamber. This was the last stand. It was impossible to know where the Striders could be found, but she had a better idea. She took her men and went for the Hand’s chambers. Surely enough she could hear the sound of a great clamour as the Hand’s tower grew nearer.

Dualscar must have taken his guard and tried to withdraw to his chambers in an effort to stay out of the battle’s way. On their way there, they had run into Prince Dietrich and his party. By the time Vriska came around the corner it was only Dualscar, Prince Dietrich, Ser Jacob and another two of Strider’s men. Dualscar called out and ordered her to aid him. His sword was locked with Prince Dietrich’s.

“Slaughter them all,” Vriska ordered.

Dualscar yelled out at her but was silenced by the Prince Regent’s sword through his breast. He had not been a swordsman to be taken lightly, but with no armour he had stood no chance. He fell over, spluttering blood as he quickly passed away. Prince Dietrich did not linger over his kill but whirled around to face the Queensguard. By then it was only he and Ser Jacob left. They stood shoulder to shoulder, outnumbered three to one and yet they cut down half of Vriska’s remaining men before the inevitable happened.

A blow from his side caught Ser Jacob off guard.  The sword got under his pauldron and passed his breastplate, impaling his chest. He buckled to the floor, still alive but bleeding out quickly. Vriska called her men off. When he was in no immediate danger, the Prince fell to his knees next to the knight.

“Jake! Stay with me.”

Vriska drew her own sword now and stepped forwards. She had not even participated in the battle. “Do you yield?” she asked.

“Yes,” the Prince Regent spat at her. “Fetch the Maester before it is too late.” It already was. Ser Jacob did not even have time or strength for words before he bled out and died in Prince Dietrich’s arms. Prince Dietrich did not raise his voice in a cry of rage. He said nothing, and the only thing betraying his inner turmoil and fury was when he threw down his helmet so hard that it bounced down the hallway. Then he fell back down in desolation.

“To think all it took for the Prince Regent himself to yield was the death of a knight,” Vriska said. “Your kingdom will be a quaint addition to my rule.”

“I may have yielded but my brother and Prince Eridan are still very much alive and intent on stopping you.”

“He is _King_ Eridan now,” she said. “Though I myself can never think of him as anything but our pathetic, craven little princeling. He is too weak to ever stop me.”

“But he will try,” Prince Dietrich said. “And everyone else will stand against you, too.”

“Then I will simply have to kill them as well.” She had no use for prisoners, not with Ser David running about, ready to take over his brother’s kingdom. She raised her sword and cut the Prince Regent’s head clean off with one swing. If he had cared so much about this knight, perhaps it was a mercy. She wiped her sword on his golden cloak. “Ser David must have gone to the throne room. Ser John, Ser Makara and Vantas are surely with him unless they are already slain. King Eridan may put up a fight, but he should not pose much of a challenge.”

Her three remaining men did not budge. She stood covered in the Prince Regent’s blood, one arm missing and face drawn in a terrible scowl, but they did not do as she ordered. “To the throne room. Do not make me repeat myself again.”

“So you can stand back while we die for you?” one of the men said. “We are outnumbered and you butchered the man we could have used to bargain with. I did not take my vow so that you can break yours.” He spat at her feet and left. It did not take long for the other two to follow him. Vriska was left to herself in the corpse-ridden hallway, refusing to believe what had happened.

She would still win. Then she would hunt those men down and have them flayed alive. She stormed towards the throne room, dodging soldiers and knights locked in their own struggles. The fighting was dying out. The castle was littered with corpses and there was no structure to the remaining swordsmen. She ran down the hall before the throne room when she met Makara. He was by himself, wearing little to no armour and twirling his sword lazily in his hand.

“Ser David said you would show up,” Ser Makara said with a snigger. “Left me here to make sure you don’t come to kill a royal son of a bitch while they look for one dually scarred Hand of the kingly son of a bitch. They know you by now.”

Vriska snarled and raised her sword at him. “You alone? They must have been as soft in the head as you to think you could stop me.”

“Says the son of a bitch with a serious lack of arms.”

Vriska’s balance was off and she had hoped to entirely avoid a duel. Ser Makara had bested her a great many times during practice, but only in a state of sobriety. His movement now was sluggish and off. He barely caught his sword in time to block her when she attacked. Relentlessly she hammered at him, knowing that speed would be her only advantage in this duel. The revolutionaries had thought they saved Ser Makara when they fed him the milk of the poppy but his unfortunate state of mind would be his downfall. It was only a matter of time before Vriska got a sharp jab of her sword past his defences.  Ser Makara crumpled to the floor.

Knowing Ser David would return, she left Ser Makara writhing on the floor and entered the throne room. It was empty, but she knew the best place in which to hide a defenceless whelp. She crossed the floor and entered the backroom, where the Small Council was held. She slammed the door open and startled one Sollux Captor who had been right behind it, trying to see what was going on. She knocked him to the floor and ran him through before he could as much as scream.

Prince Eridan was pressed up against the far wall, sword in hand and eyes wide and frightened. He was trembling so furiously he could not even hold his sword right. It slipped and fell to the floor with a clatter. “This is too easy,” she laughed, near hysterical with delight. “I have no need for soldiers or knights at my back! I can single-handedly best every man in this castle and I _will_ have the throne.”

The Prince clawed at the wall as if he could merge with it if he only tried hard enough. “You may kill me, but the Striders would never let you rule,” he cried.

“Prince Dietrich is dead by my hand and Ser David needs only show himself and I will do him the same favour. Enough talk. Time to die.” As she raised her sword, her shoulder and upper arm were seized from behind. She strained her neck to look behind her and stared into the devilish eyes of a royal blue helmet in the shape of a horse’s head. The grip on her arm tightened until she cried out in pain and dropped her sword. “Mercy!” she screamed. Nausea welled up in her as her remaining arm gradually was dislocated from her shoulder. The muscles were drawn as far as they could go. Her flesh began to tear.

Ser Zahhak ripped her remaining arm off. He wielded it like a hammer. Blood sprayed everywhere as he knocked her to the floor with her own severed limb. She writhed in pain but somehow managed to twist herself around on her back to shout curses and insults at him while he removed his helmet. He looked her in the eye and she could tell that somehow he _knew_. He kneeled down at her side and ripped off her breastplate. She gasped some last pleas before his gauntleted fist sank into her chest. Her ribs caved in and snapped.

The splintered bone pierced her lungs and the rest of her organs were crushed. She watched Ser Zahhak rise and leave her side while she slowly drowned in her own blood. His helmet dropped to the floor next to her head with a _clang_ and he opened his arms. The Prince ran to him, leapt into his embrace and kissed him deeply, and that was the last thing she ever saw.


	33. KARKAT

It was hard to tell when the battle ended. To Karkat it was only over after they had gathered in the throne room and he saw the body of Sollux carried out of the backroom. He would have cried his eyes out, but he sat next to Ser David who had just lost his brother. Everyone present from the western land was in mourning over Prince Dietrich and the rest of their fallen. Bodies were still being recovered and their condition was still questionable, but the Prince Regent and Ser Jacob lay side by side on the floor of the throne room with rows and rows of other corpses.

Those who still lived had been sent out to scour the city and castle for any other survivors, as well as their dead. There was still no sign of Ser John, the Lady Lalondes or Gamzee.

Karkat had a lump in his throat when they brought Terezi inside. What right had they to bring her here to fight their war? She had given her and Pyralspite’s life for their cause and he swore he would dedicate his life to see the castes united. On this day, highbloods and lowbloods had fought together with a common goal. _Let us live together like this in peace from now_ , he thought to himself. Sollux had died for this, as with everyone else.

He was still not sure what would be done with “King” Eridan. It was for Ser David to decide, and he had put the decision off for the time being. Ampora and his knight were in one of the anterooms, mostly unharmed from what he had heard.

Karkat had one thing to be glad of; Tavros had been able to stay out of the battle. Ser David had brought him in while he went to get Maester Calliope, and he sat with her while she tended the sick. Still, Tavros had the eyes of a dead man. Not a word had escaped him since he heard that Gamzee was missing.

“What happens now?” Karkat asked Ser David after they had been sitting in silence together for some time. His question made Ser David stir from his thoughts and returned him to the real world.

“My brother’s kingdom, Gods rest his soul, is in good hands. We left enough soldiers behind to defend it and I trust Lady Harley to run it until I return. I must take my brother’s place,” Ser David said mournfully. “I will have time to restore order here before going home.” Karkat had a good idea of how close the brothers had been, and he put a hand on Ser David’s shoulder. He was not sure what else he could do to comfort him.

“Ser Jacob is with him,” Karkat said, though he did not know if that was a reassurance. Ser David only nodded without looking him in the eyes.

“I have a proposition for you. Today you have proven yourself in every way. You made this possible because you inspire the people and fight as valiantly as you speak. Your desire for peace and equality impressed my brother greatly. I would have you come with me when I leave and be my Hand. That said I understand if you would decline. After all, you have a throne waiting for you.”

“A throne?” Karkat said doubtfully. “I am no king. My leadership is not meant to be distributed from a chair inside a fortress. I belong among the people. I would do you no good neither as Hand nor King.”

“You are too blind to see that these qualities are exactly what makes you fit. Take the Grand Maester for your Hand and let her take care of the hard work while you inspire your people and pursue your ideals. Or come with me. Teach me to do what you do.”

Karkat did not know what to think. He only knew one thing for sure. “I cannot come with you. I promised myself I will take this land to a better future. I lost too many friends in this war and I will not betray what they died for.”

“Then be the King and see your promise through,” Ser David encouraged him.

“What of King Eridan?” Karkat asked. “Where does he stand in any of this? What will happen to him?”

“He has been cooperative so far, but this land does not belong to him. The Condesce took this kingdom by force. They came here from the eastern seas. I would liberate those lands as well. Currently it is the Condesce’s only living daughter who rules, and she is as tyrannical as her mother was.”

“You would put Ampora on that throne instead?” Karkat asked.

“He must abdicate the Coral Throne to you if he wishes to live,” Ser David said. “I still doubt he would make a good monarch, but he does have a claim to those lands. Whether I would put him on that throne is left to be seen. Either way his homeland must be freed from the last of the Peixes.”

“With neither Dualscar nor the Condesce to defend them, the east should be easy to take. We only need time to raise an army. You will leave, once that is done?”

Ser David nodded. “And it will all be in your hands.”

Karkat hesitated. Ser David was not leaving yet, but they were both at a weak moment. Now was a less embarrassing time to ask than later. “Will we see each other again, after you have gone home?”

“I will make sure of it.” Ser David had been staring at nothing and everything, but now he looked to Karkat. “Shall we set aside our grief for a while longer and speak to the ‘King’?”

“If such a thing can be done.”

“A true knight knows to contain his grief.”

“Then I have no desire to be a true knight,” Karkat replied defiantly. “You can keep your shit-stinking title. I piss on those who would hold back their tears for their fallen friends.”

“What a hypocrite you are,” Ser David said. Karkat had been straining to hold back his tears in Ser David’s company, but had failed miserably. Now he resorted to being angry. “No matter. Even a beggar with a stick sword could not look dishonourable in the company of Eridan Ampora.” He stood. Karkat made to follow. The two of them went alone to the antechamber. Should Ser Zahhak give them trouble, the remnants of their army was right outside. Ser David closed the door after Karkat.

King Eridan sat on a bench, leaned against his one remaining defender. They had no designated guards, but leaving the castle would be impossible for them. No man would allow them passage anywhere. Eridan held the crown in his lap; a delicate circlet of blackened coral set with the whitest of diamonds. The twisting arms of the coral looked like a ring of antlers or branches reaching upwards. A beautiful work, and yet the King appeared to be regarding it with disgust.

“Your time of judgement has come, King Eridan. You will be given a very simple choice for now,” Ser David told him.

“His Highness has only one request,” Ser Zahhak said.

“Do _not_ call me that,” the King hissed under his breath. “And I told you not to.”

“Whether you choose to send him away, imprison him here or put him to death, I will go with him.” Ser Zahhak stared at Ser David, acting as if Karkat was not even present. “It is the least you can do.”

“I heard you killed Serket,” Ser David said. “An honourable act, but it is your King I would speak to. He must immediately abdicate the throne to Karkat Vantas. His father’s crimes and his involvement with the Condesce rules that he should die, but he may still claim innocence.”

“Innocence?” the King spat. “ _Innocence_?” He sprang up from the bench, despite Ser Zahhak’s effort to retain him. “This is an insult!” he screamed. “First you would have me hand over the crown to Vantas, this lowest scum of the cesspits who betrayed Ser Zahhak at his first opportunity, and next you would have me claim innocence? Piss all over my guilt for the life I have taken, the cowardly choices I made and call me innocent while you laugh behind my back as I stew in my anguish. _Innocence_ ,” he spat again.

“Your Grace, you will stop this,” Ser Zahhak murmured. “You will be the death of us both.”

“Sooner death than another act of cowardice!” Ampora yelled. He had succeeded in thoroughly startling both Ser Dave and Karkat, who watched his tantrum with wide eyes and open mouths. “You wish for me to abdicate? There is no title to relinquish and there never was. I am no King with only one man to support me. I _gladly_ renounce this throne I acquired through the lies and schemes of others!”

They all reached out to stop him, but none of them could take one step before a shattering sound pierced the room and echoed off the walls. The crown smashed against the floor into a thousand petrified pieces of black chalk, scattering diamonds and dust everywhere. They looked at Eridan Ampora in astonishment and dead silence. He panted and huffed, staring from one man to the other.

“There,” he said. “I abdicate. Willingly and eagerly I abdicate, but I will not, cannot, give this crown to one who suffered my blue knight so much pain. Whether you actually take my place does not matter. This...” He drew a deep breath and continued to glare at Karkat. “It is principle. Forge your own crown if you desire it so much.”

Ser David looked at Karkat, at a loss of words. Karkat fumbled for words. “I don’t... It was never my style.” He hadn’t wanted to be King in the first place, though Ampora’s destruction of the crown was intended as a symbolic protest to his crime against Ser Zahhak. He turned to the knight he had wrong, knowing he had no true excuses. “Nothing I say will change what I did, but the friends I lost today has changed my view of the castes for the better. In the future I will strive for harmony between us all rather than the death of the upper castes.”

“My only regret in this is the death of Lady Nepeta,” Ser Zahhak said. “You were protecting your own, as I should have.”

“That is all?” Ampora cried. “You are _forgiving_ him this simply?”

“Cease your feeble attempt at stalling and tell them what you wish to tell them,” Ser Zahhak told him. “Vantas’ guilt will not lessen your own.”

It was a pleasure to watch Ampora writhe, though Karkat knew that whatever this was about could not be pleasant. “What is this about?” he asked.

Ampora deflated as quickly as he had puffed himself up. He fell back down on the bench and clutched at his head with a grief-stricken face. “It is the truth of Feferi Peixes.” Ser Zahhak put a hand on his shoulder. “Surely you are wondering what has become of her.”

“What has become of her?” Ser David asked. “She became a corpse to adorn the castle gates in a freakish greeting to our troops; that is what has become of her.”

“What? No! That was my father’s work. He must have retrieved the body and... By the Seven.” Ampora virtually wailed at this discovery. “If you have not heard the truth of it, I will tell you now that she died at my hand. It was a swift death; I would never be that cruel to her.”

“Never be that cruel?” Karkat asked in disbelief. “You are the one who murdered her? If I had thought one honourable thing of you it was that you loved the Princess unconditionally. I see I was wrong to presume you had a single virtue.” He made a sound of utter disgust. “What will we do with them, Ser David?”

Ser Zahhak’s grip tightened on Ampora’s shoulder. “Serket tricked him, as she tricked your friend Ser Makara to murder my sister in spirit, Lady Nepeta. Eridan loved her, but he was in a compromised position that Serket extorted. He was only trying to keep me alive; if anyone is to blame other than Serket it is me.”

“Do not defend me,” Ampora sneered. “I loved her truly and deeply, but I failed her.”

Ser David remained a silent observer as this round of accusations took place. In the end everyone had shouted or snapped their opinion and silence fell. Only then did he speak. “Eridan Ampora, how would you like to go home?”

He looked up at Ser David, a broken, scared and pathetic little man in Karkat’s eyes. “I would want nothing more,” he said in a whisper. “So long as my knight is willing to come with me.” Ser Zahhak had found Ampora’s hand in silent reply. Ser David nodded.

“Then so it shall be. For your crimes against the mainlands you are my prisoner. I declare that you shall win your freedom and claim to the title of King in the east once you have taken up arms for me and aided in the coming war to liberate your homeland from the tyrannical rule of the last of House Peixes. You will fight as a soldier in my army. So long as you follow orders your freedom and title will be restored once you are either dead or we are victorious.”

Ampora was gaping like a fish on land, stammering out his protest. “I do not have the courage or, or the strength of a soldier.”

“Then this is your chance to prove that you are no craven. I hear you are not useless in battle,” Ser David said. Karkat let out an obligatory scoff, though Ampora was known to be skilled when he only managed not to drop his blade in fear. Ser David gave him a sharp look before he continued. “You may have Ser Zahhak fighting at your side, if he is willing.”

“I will gladly fight for him.”

“With him,” Ser David corrected, and Ser Zahhak nodded.

“Let it be so.”

“Are you fine with this arrangement?” Ser David asked him. Karkat was no King yet, but neither was Ser David. As it were, Ser David was the most respectable man present and Karkat would not argue with him. Though he would have seen Ampora more directly punished for his crimes, surely a battlefield might make a decent man out of him, or a dead man.

“This is just,” Karkat decided. “Let him pay back his crimes by serving his country.”

Ampora looked terrified, but he drew strength from Ser Zahhak’s presence. In the end he had little choice and he resigned. “I suppose it is my turn to fight for my home as you have done, Vantas.”

Karkat would have proceeded to tell him that covering behind a big, plated knight renowned through the kingdoms for his unmatched physical strength was not at all the same thing as he had done, but covering was not enough on a battlefield. Ampora would see what it was all about, and then he would see the sacrifices those around him had made so that he could throw a coral crown to the floor on ‘principle’. Either way, the door at the other end of the antechamber was pushed open.

“Seven Hells,” Ser David muttered.

Gamzee fell in facedown on the floor. He panted and wheezed, clutching at his bleeding stomach. Those incompetent fools searching the castle must not have checked the hallway beyond the antechamber. Ser David and Karkat rushed to his aid and lifted him off the floor.

“Gamzee. Gamzee, you insane, damnable shit-stain of a jester, I thought you were bloody dead,” Karkat said with tears in his eyes. He could not state the sheer happiness he felt at discovering his friend alive. He was yelling in anger like a madman but Gamzee grinned, knowing him too well. Also he was dazed from blood loss.

“Dead. Dead happens to men without sweet little crippled cupcakes to come home to, or angry, angry sons of bitch friends to carry him when he falls.”

Karkat put his arms around his ludicrous, maddening friend and kissed him in relief. With Ser David’s help they carried him into the throne room, where Grand Maester Maryam had to push through a throng of people to tend to the dying man. The Mad Knight had no idea the glory he had won himself. Karkat pushed people away to give the Maester room to work, not allowing anyone close.

“Will he live?” Karkat asked once the Maester had some time to look at him and had called for her equipment.

“He has been fortunate,” she replied. “The wound is deep but does not seem to have pierced any vital anatomy. He might yet live. Someone fetch me more brandy from the cellar; I fear we are almost out.” Whatever milk of the poppy they had was long gone. The men had been given wine, distillates and anything else found in the castle cellar, but the strongest was reserved for those in need of amputations.

Karkat oversaw the process and clutched Gamzee’s limp hand as the Maester poured brandy over the wound and spiced wine down his throat. Karkat glanced briefly to Tavros, seeing the boy on a bench against the wall at the far end of the room. He had no ability to move from where they had left him. There were tears of relief on his face, and despite his inability to be at Gamzee’s side he was all too happy for him. This would not do. Karkat let go of Gamzee, took the last of the wine and strode across the room.

“How are your legs? Fine? No?” He pushed the near empty skin of wine into Tavros’ hand and took him by his shoulders. “Drink up. We are going for a walk.”

“U-uhm. I can see, I can see just fine from here,” Tavros stammered, but was shut up as Karkat pressed the skin to his mouth. Wine dribbled down his chin. Most of it spilled, but Karkat didn’t let him breathe until it was all gone one way or another. Then he hauled him too his feet and walked him across the floor. He held Tavros up to the best of his ability, but to his eternal fury he was shorter than the boy and had trouble holding him up.

They made it to Gamzee’s side and Tavros collapsed next to him, swaying. He groped for Gamzee’s hand until Karkat took it and put it to Tavros’ face, letting Gamzee stroke clumsily at his cheek. Tavros held it there and looked ready to burst into tears. Karkat only shook his head. He had to do everything for these damnable idiots.


	34. KANAYA

The last to be retrieved from the battlefield were the remnants of House Lalonde. The last search party found Ser John and Lady Roxanne returning to the castle in a slow procession, carrying Lady Rose between them. Ser John and Lady Roxanne had sustained some severe injuries, but Lady Rose had been caught in the fires of Pyralspite at the heart of the battle. There was nothing to be done for her, but her husband and daughter had not left her side until they had done everything in their power to revive her. Kanaya assured them that a hasty return to the castle would not have helped; the fires had taken Lady Rose beyond any mortal’s help.

The return of the Lalondes had marked the end of the battle for most. They had resorted to cleaning up the mess, reflect upon their losses and catch their breaths. Kanaya worked tirelessly with the help of Maester Calliope in tending the wounded. Their job would continue indefinitely and they carried their own sorrows in silence. While working on a new batch of milk of the poppy they came into talking, as Calliope was not as diligent in keeping her face dry as Kanaya was.

“I don’t know what will become of dear Roxy now,” she lamented. “She held her mother in such high regard, and what use is Ser John? Last I saw he was crying his eyes out like a babe, poor man. I cannot fathom how they will tell poor, sweet Jane. Even worse, I fear for my darling David. Those boys were sons to me and Lady Rose. Now David has neither his brother nor his dear Rose to turn to in the world, and he has to be King of all things.” She sniffed into a handkerchief before she went on with her work. Kanaya comforted her to the best of her abilities.

Calliope was not the only one to pour her grief out on her. It grew worse towards the burials. There were many of those. Karkat Vantas was now in charge of the capital, yet to be coroneted but vastly respected and eagerly followed. He would have no heads on spikes or bodies lying about. The men they recognized or who were asked for were returned to their homelands for a proper burial, but many of the fallen were commoners of this city. The stench was getting unbelievable and a funeral pyre was all they could manage in such a short time.

The bodies that had a while left to travel had to be preserved to the best of their knowledge. Kanaya was better skilled at this than Calliope, and so it became her task to wrap the Prince Regent’s body in layers and layers of soaked linens. Ser David insisted on being present, but not without Karkat Vantas. They spoke little, only watched her work tirelessly as she always did. When Lady Rose’s turn came, it was Ser John who sat in, alone, because he had refused Lady Roxanne to watch such grotesque work.

Vantas returned to him again when she worked on Lady Terezi Pyrope. It had been decided that her remains would be returned to the dragon island, to honour her in death for her service. They could do nothing with the body of Pyralspite. Fire would not burn it and it was too large to preserve. It would be buried at sea once they could find a ship that had not been destroyed in the battle.

Vantas was alone with her, looking grimmer than ever as Kanaya bandaged the young woman’s body. Finally this long line of silent mourners got to her. She glanced over at Vantas with a face like a stone mask. “You were close to her?” she asked.

“As close as one can be to someone one has only known for a day,” Vantas replied. “Our meeting was one of those instantaneous sparks of fire, but it died before its time.”

“I can tell as much.”

Vantas furrowed his brows at her. “Do you care even the slightest?” he asked. “One body after another, one mourner after the next. Ser David said I should name you Hand once I am crowned, but I need no heartless demon to run my business.”

Kanaya’s eyes flared. “Do not speak of loss as if you are the only one who understands it. I served the King before Her Imperious Condescension and I watched him and his blood slaughtered. I had no means to fight, and so I stood back while innocent lives were taken, some of which I had pulled from their mother’s wombs myself.”

“But you quickly forgot them when the Condesce demanded your service,” Vantas spat.

“Never,” Kanaya murmured with her eyes set on the linen she was wrapping so carefully around Terezi Pyrope’s fingers. “Even as I grew to care for Princess Feferi, I never forgot. I was the sole island of reason in that girl’s life and I did what I could for her. I always did what I could for all of them, no matter where they came from or what their intentions were. Any man such as you would hate me for it, but I loved them all the same.”

“You were loyal to the Condesce...”

Kanaya shook her head. “I am not a soldier, Vantas. I am a scholar, a healer. I pursue knowledge and skill only to aid others, to the benefit of those I serve but formerly to the realm. I grieve for each of your fallen friends who fought so valiantly, for the Prince Regent who would have brought this kingdom to glory, for the Princess who died so senselessly...” She covered her mouth with one hand. “Many grieve for them, but only I grieve for Vriska Serket. I despised her and loved her all the same, for I tended her wounds and sat at dinner with her. I saw what she could have been, had her choices been different, and so I must grieve for her as well. Does it revolt you to know?”

Vantas said nothing. Kanaya waited for him to condemn her, to name her a fool and to cast her out. When he did not, Kanaya could only return to her work. Her hands were quivering from her admission but she was determined and without regret.

“Be my Hand, once I am crowned,” Vantas said after what felt like an eternity. “Be the Hand of the King and serve this realm with a heart void of hatred and bias.”

She could have wept in her relief, but she did not. Kanaya Maryam only nodded her head and continued her tireless work.


	35. TAVROS

Karkat refused to hold any grand crowning ceremony before the city was back in order, but he did call together a Small Council. Ser David and Ser John were invited for as long as they stayed in the mainlands and had the time. Maester Calliope as well, as Ser David meant to name her Hand of the King once they had conquered the east and returned home. Those who had been given a permanent position so far were the Grand Maester, Gamzee and Tavros. In the first meeting Karkat had announced that Maester Maryam would be named Hand of the King, and he later, in private, showered Gamzee and Tavros both in excuses as to why he would not name them.

“I need someone who knows how to run this stinking, bloody shit heap of a kingdom,” he had said, spitting and growling. “Hell if I know what Ser David was thinking, suggesting I be the King. Piss on him, and piss on me for saying yes to this atrocious bloody job.”

“Gamzee and I, we agree with him, though,” Tavros assured him.

“Best son of a bitch leader for best son of a bitch king,” Gamzee agreed. “You will show all those sons of bitches your miracles.”

“And, and Maester Maryam will surely, surely be of great help. More so than us. I, I know I know nothing about any of this.” He did not honestly think there was a place for him even in the Small Council, but he would eventually manage to wrap his head around the proceedings. If nothing else, he would make sure that no one were forgotten when the King made his decrees.

“It should have been Sollux,” Karkat muttered under his breath. They knew. There was an empty chair at the table of the Small Council and they knew Karkat could not let go. They had comforted him to the best of their efforts but they too grieved for their friend.

For a time Tavros had struggled to see how the world could go on at all. When he had finally heard of what had become of his family, the farm where he grew up, the animals he had cared for, his world had fallen apart. Was it not for Gamzee who was there to take him in his arms and kiss him when no one was looking, he would not have made it. Sometimes there were kisses when they were not so alone; Gamzee was not too good at keeping secrets. If anyone objected, Karkat must have silenced them.

As time passed his legs healed. They no longer hurt, but walking on them was painful and hard. Maester Calliope had been right in her assumption. Tavros still refused to sit quietly in the castle and do nothing. He would be there for the Small Council, but with the help of the Maesters they had designed a saddle that would allow him to stay on horseback. Leading the animal was not too much trouble. It seemed to do whatever Tavros wanted of it.

One day he took the horse up to the remnants of his family’s farm. Karkat gave him a few men to help him rebuild it. A few stray animals had survived the fire and he took care of them. This was where he spent his time outside the Small Council, and Gamzee joined him whenever duty did not hold him back. Karkat had named him Commander of the new Kingsguard. He was not one to resist shirking his duties at most times, but he heeded Karkat’s requests if no one else’s. This made their meetings outside the Council short and scarce, in return filled with all the more passion.

With the farm rebuilt, Tavros could offer shelter and work to those who had lost everything, and Karkat eventually placed him in charge of the rebuilding of the city. One by one everyone was finding their place in this new world.


	36. ERIDAN

After the capital city had been rebuilt with Karkat Vantas crowned as the new king of the mainlands, he aided Ser David in raising an army to liberate the east. Vantas would not go with them for this battle, his duty was to his own people, but the two parted with promises of a glorious collaboration in the future. Ser David then called on Eridan to have him fitted with armour and a sword. He was given no ranks, but Ser David was not so cruel as to outfit him poorly.

A year of fighting would pass from the moment Eridan again laid eyes on the shores of his home. He would think back and remember how scared he was. He never forgot the meaning of fear, even after he lived through his first battle. He would not have survived was it not for Equius. He felt like a dead man in an endless, chaotic nightmare of blood and filth. He was surrounded by the sandy, white buildings of his childhood home but they were on fire, spouting dead people from windows and doors while clusters of soldiers slaughtered blindly in the street. The first time was the worst. Once he knew there was no surviving, it was somehow not so frightening.

He wondered then, a year later, how he came to walk up the palace steps with Equius and Ser David at his sides, how they had made it. Why, they had outnumbered the enemy greatly and had the support of the people in every corner of the east, but it had not felt that way when they were wrestling each other with swords, knee-high in mud and corpses. All three of them were filthy and riddled with cuts and bruises, but nothing so bad as to ruin the sheer glory they felt at that moment.

They cut down the palace guard outside the massive gates of coral and shells that gleamed in the red light of the rising sun. The palace steps towered high above the city, from where smoke and the stench of death and filth and victory rose. Once they had taken the last of the Peixes this war would also end. Ser David would finally return home. They had not spoken of what would be done with him, but nothing needed to be said. Eridan still had Equius at his side and for the first time he was not afraid.


End file.
